LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 


PRESENTED  BY 

MISS  ROSARIO  CURLETTI 


TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH 
A  DOG  SLED 


.Mu^tfiif /^^^ , 


TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH 
A  DOG  SLED 

A  NARRATIVE  OF  WINTER  TRAVEL  IN  INTERIOR  ALASKA 


BY 

HUDSON  STUCK,  D.D.,  F.R.G.S. 

ARCHDEACON    OF    THE    YUKON 

AUTHOR  OS   "the  ASCENT  OF  DENALI  (MOUNT  McKINLEY)" 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW    YORK 
CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

1914 


Copyright,  IQ14    by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

Published  May,  igi4 


Wo 
GRAFTON  BURKE,  M.D. 

AND 

EDGAR  WEBB  LOOMIS,  M.D. 

PUPILS,  COMRADES,   COLLEAGUES, 

COMPANIONS   ON   SOME   OF  THESE   JOURNEYS, 

ALWAYS   DEAR   FRIENDS, 

AND    TO 

THE  MOTHER  OF  THE  THREE  OF  US 
SEWANEE 

THE   COLLEGE    ON    THE    MOUNTAIN-TOP 

WHERE   THE    OLD    IDEALS    ARE    STILL 

UNFLINCHINGLY    MAINTAINED 

THIS  VOLUME 

IS 

AFFECTIONATELY  INSCRIBED 

BY 

THE  AUTHOR 


PREFACE 

This  volume  deals  with  a  series  of  journeys  taken 
with  a  dog  team  over  the  winter  trails  in  the  interior 
of  Alaska.  The  title  might  have  claimed  fourteen  or 
fifteen  thousand  miles  instead  of  ten,  for  the  book  was 
projected  and  the  title  adopted  some  years  ago,  and  the 
journeys  have  continued.  But  ten  thousand  is  a  good 
round  titular  number,  and  is  none  the  worse  for  being 
well  within  the  mark. 

So  far  as  mere  distance  is  concerned,  an5rway,  there 
is  nothing  noteworthy  in  this  record.  There  are  many 
men  in  Alaska  who  have  done  much  more.  A  mail- 
carrier  on  one  of  the  longer  dog  routes  will  cover  four 
thousand  miles  in  a  winter,  while  the  writer's  average  is 
less  than  two  thousand.  But  his  sled  has  gone  far  off 
the  beaten  track,  across  the  arctic  wilderness,  into  many 
remote  corners;  wherever,  indeed,  white  men  or  natives 
were  to  be  found  in  all  the  great  interior. 

These  journeys  were  connected  primarily  with  the 
administration  of  the  extensive  work  of  the  Episcopal 
Church  in  the  interior  of  Alaska,  under  the  bishop  of  the 
diocese;  but  that  feature  of  them  has  been  fully  set  forth 
from  time  to  time  in  the  church  publications,  and  finds 
only  incidental  reference  here. 

It  is  a  great,  wild  country,  little  known  save  along 


viii  PREFACE 

accustomed  routes  of  travel;  a  country  with  a  beauty 
and  a  fascination  all  its  own;  mere  arctic  wilderness,  in- 
deed, and  nine  tenths  of  it  probably  destined  always  to 
remain  such,  yet  full  of  interest  and  charm. 

Common  opinion  "outside"  about  Alaska  seems  to 
be  veering  from  the  view  that  it  is  a  land  of  perpetual 
snow  and  ice  to  the  other  extreme  of  holding  it  to  be  a 
"world's  treasure-house"  of  mineral  wealth  and  agricul- 
tural possibility.  The  world's  treasure  is  deposited  in 
many  houses,  and  Alaska  has  its  share;  its  mineral 
wealth  is  very  great,  and  "hidden  doors  of  opulence" 
may  open  at  any  time,  but  its  agricultural  possibilities, 
in  the  ordinary  sense  in  which  the  phrase  is  used,  are 
confined  to  very  small  areas  in  proportion  to  the  enor- 
mous whole,  and  in  very  limited  degree. 

It  is  no  new  thing  for  those  who  would  build  rail- 
ways to  write  in  high-flown  style  about  the  regions  they 
would  penetrate,  and,  indeed,  to  speak  of  "millions  of 
acres  waiting  for  the  plough"  is  not  necessarily  a  mis- 
representation; they  are  waiting.  Nor  is  it  altogether 
unnatural  that  professional  agricultural  experimenters  at 
the  stations  established  by  the  government  should  make 
the  most  of  their  experiments.  When  Dean  Stanley 
spoke  disdainfully  of  dogma.  Lord  Beaconsfield  replied; 
"Ah!  but  you  must  always  remember,  no  dogmas,  no 
deans." 

Besides  the  physical  attractions  of  this  country,  it  has 
a  gentle  aboriginal  population  that  arouses  in  many  ways 
the  respect  and  the  sympathy  of  all  kindly  people;  and 
it  has  some  of  the  hardiest  and  most  adventurous  white 


PREFACE  ix 

men  in  the  world.  The  reader  will  come  into  contact 
with  both  in  these  pages. 

So  much  for  the  book's  scope;  a  word  of  its  limita- 
tions. It  is  confined  to  the  interior  of  Alaska;  confined 
in  the  main  to  the  great  valley  of  the  Yukon  and  its 
tributaries ;  being  a  record  of  sled  journeys,  it  is  confined 
to  the  winter. 

There  is  no  man  living  who  knows  the  whole  of 
Alaska  or  who  has  any  right  to  speak  about  the  whole 
of  Alaska.  Bishop  Rowe  knows  more  about  Alaska,  in 
all  probability,  than  any  other  living  man,  and  there 
are  large  areas  of  the  country  in  which  he  has  never  set 
foot.  There  is  probably  no  man  living,  save  Bishop 
Rowe,  who  has  visited  even  the  localities  of  all  the  mis- 
sions of  the  Episcopal  Church  in  Alaska.  If  one  were 
to  travel  continuously  for  a  whole  year,  using  the  most 
expeditious  means  at  his  command,  and  not  wasting  a 
day  anywhere,  it  is  doubtful  whether,  summer  and  win- 
ter, by  sea  and  land,  squeezing  the  last  mile  out  of  the 
seasons,  travelling  on  the  "last  ice"  and  the  "first  water," 
he  could  even  touch  at  all  the  mission  stations.  So, 
when  a  man  from  Nome  speaks  of  Alaska  he  means  his 
part  of  Alaska,  the  Seward  Peninsula.  When  a  man 
from  Valdez  or  Cordova  speaks  of  Alaska  he  means  the 
Prince  William  Sound  country.  When  a  man  from  Ju- 
neau speaks  of  Alaska  he  means  the  southeastern  coast. 
Alaska  is  not  one  country  but  many,  with  different 
climates,  different  resources,  different  problems,  differ- 
ent populations,  different  interests;  and  what  is  true  of 
one  part  of  it  is  often  grotesquely  untrue  of  other  parts. 


X  PREFACE 

This  is  the  reason  why  so  many  contradictory  things 
have  been  written  about  the  country.  Not  only  do 
these  various  parts  of  Alaska  differ  radically  from  one 
another,  but  they  are  separated  from  one  another  by 
almost  insuperable  natural  obstacles,  so  that  they  are  in 
reality  different  countries. 

When  Alaska  is  spoken  of  in  this  book  the  interior 
is  meant,  in  which  the  writer  has  travelled  almost  con- 
tinuously for  the  past  eight  years.  The  Seward  Penin- 
sula is  the  only  other  part  of  the  country  that  the  book 
touches.  And  as  regards  summer  travel  and  the  summer 
aspect  of  the  country,  there  is  material  for  another  book 
should  the  reception  of  this  one  warrant  its  preparation. 

The  problems  of  the  civil  government  of  the  country 
will  be  found  touched  upon  somewhat  freely  as  they  rise 
from  time  to  time  in  the  course  of  these  journeys,  and 
some  faint  hope  is  entertained  that  drawing  attention 
to  evils  may  hasten  a  remedy. 

Alaska  is  not  now,  and  never  has  been,  a  lawless 
country  in  the  old.  Wild  Western  sense  of  unpunished 
homicides  and  crimes  of  violence.  It  has  been,  on  the 
whole,  singularly  free  from  bloodshed — a  record  due  in 
no  small  part  to  the  fact  that  it  is  not  the  custom  of 
the  country  to  carry  pistols,  for  which  again  there  is 
climatic  and  geographic  reason;  due  also  in  part  to  the 
very  peaceable  and  even  timid  character  of  its  native 
people. 

But  as  regards  the  stringent  laws  enacted  by  Congress 
for  the  protection  of  these  native  people,  and  especially 


PREFACE  xi 

in  the  essential  particular  of  protecting  them  from  the 
fatal  effects  of  intoxicating  hquor,  the  country  is  not 
law-abiding,  for  these  laws  are  virtually  a  dead  letter. 

Justices  of  the  peace  who  must  live  wholly  upon  fees 
in  regions  where  fees  will  not  furnish  a  living,  and  United 
States  deputy  marshals  appointed  for  political  reasons, 
constitute  a  very  feeble  staff  against  law-breakers.  When 
it  is  remembered  that  on  the  whole  fifteen  hundred  miles 
of  the  American  Yukon  there  are  but  six  of  these  deputy 
marshals,  and  that  these  six  men,  with  another  five  or 
six  on  the  tributary  rivers,  form  all  the  police  of  the 
country,  it  will  be  seen  that  Congress  must  do  some- 
thing more  than  pass  stringent  laws  if  those  laws  are  to 
be  of  any  effect. 

A  body  of  stipendiary  magistrates,  a  police  force 
wholly  removed  from  politics  and  modelled  somewhat 
upon  the  Canadian  Northwest  Mounted  Police — these 
are  two  of  the  great  needs  of  the  country  if  the  liquor 
laws  are  to  be  enforced  and  the  native  people  are  to 
survive. 

That  the  danger  of  the  extermination  of  the  natives 
is  a  real  one  all  vital  statistics  kept  at  Yukon  River 
points  in  the  last  five  years  show,  and  that  there  are 
powerful  influences  in  the  country  opposed  to  the  exe- 
cution of  the  liquor  laws  some  recent  trials  at  Fairbanks 
would  leave  no  room  for  doubt  if  there  had  been  any 
room  before.  Indeed,  at  this  writing,  when  the  pages 
of  this  book  are  closed  and  there  remains  no  place  save 
the  preface  where  the  matter  can  be  referred  to,  an 
impudent   attempt   is   on   foot,   with   large   commercial 


xu 


PREFACE 


backing,  to  secure  the  removal  of  a  zealous  and  fearless 
United  States  district  attorney,  who  has  been  too  active 
in  prosecuting  liquor-peddlers  to  suit  the  wholesale  dealers 
in  liquor. 

There  are,  of  course,  those  who  view  with  perfect 
equanimity  the  destruction  of  the  natives  that  is  now 
going  on,  and  look  forward  with  complacency  to  the 
time  when  the  Alaskan  Indian  shall  have  ceased  to  exist. 
But  to  men  of  thought  and  feeling  such  cynicism  is  ab- 
horrent, and  the  duty  of  the  government  towards  its 
simple  and  kindly  wards  is  clear. 

A  measure  of  real  protection  must  be  given  the  na- 
tive communities  against  the  low-down  whites  who  seek 
to  intrude  into  them  and  build  habitations  for  conve- 
nient resort  upon  occasions  of  drunkenness  and  debauch- 
ery, and  some  adequate  machinery  set  up  for  suppress- 
ing the  contemptible  traffic  in  adulterated  spirits  they 
subsist  largely  upon.  The  licensed  liquor-dealers  do  not 
themselves  sell  to  Indians,  but  they  notoriously  sell  to 
men  who  notoriously  peddle  to  Indians,  and  the  suppres- 
sion of  this  illicit  commerce  would  materially  reduce  the 
total  sales  of  liquor. 

Some  measure  of  protection,  one  thinks,  must  also 
be  afforded  against  a  predatory  class  of  Indian  traders, 
the  back  rooms  of  whose  stores  are  often  barrooms, 
gambling-dens,  and  houses  of  assignation,  and  head- 
quarters and  harbourage  for  the  white  degenerates — 
even  if  the  government  go  the  length  of  setting  up  co- 
operative Indian  stores  in  the  interior,  as  has  been  done 
in  some  places  on  the  coast.     This  last  is  a  matter  in 


PREFACE  xiii 

which  the   missions   are  helpless,   for  there  is  no  wise 
combination  of  religion  and  trade. 

So  this  book  goes  forth  with  a  plea  in  the  front  of  it, 
which  will  find  incidental  support  and  expression  through- 
out it,  for  the  natives  of  interior  Alaska,  that  they  be 
not  wantonly  destroyed  off  the  face  of  the  earth. 

Hudson  Stuck. 

New  York, 
March,  1 91 4. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

Preface        vii 

I.     Fairbanks   to   the    Chandalar    Through    Circle 

City  and  Fort  Yukon 3 

11.     Chandalar    Village    to   Bettles,   Coldfoot,  and 

the  koyukuk 34 

III.  Bettles    to    the    Pacific — The    Alatna,    Kobuk 

Portage,  Kobuk  Village,  Kotzebue  Sound  .      63 

IV.  The  Seward  Peninsula — Candle  Creek,  Council, 

AND  Nome 102 

V.     Nome  to  Fairbanks — Norton  Sound — The  Kaltag 

Portage — Nulato — Up  the  Yukon  to  Tanana     125 

VI.    The  "First  Ice" — An  Autumn  Adventure  on  the 

KoYUKUK 157 

VII.  The  Koyukuk  to  the  Yukon  and  to  Tanana — 
Christmas  Holidays  at  Saint  John's-in-the- 
Wilderness 188 

VIII.  Up  the  Yukon  to  Rampart  and  Across  Country 
to  the  Tanana — Alaskan  Agriculture — The 
Good  Dog  Nanook — Miss  Farthing's  Boys  at 
Nenana — Chena  and  Fairbanks 219 

IX.  Tanana  Crossing  to  Fortymile  and  Down  the 
Yukon  —  A  Patriarchal  Chief  —  Swarming 
Caribou — Eagle  and  Fort  Egbert — Circle 
City  and  Fort  Yukon 251 


xvi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

X.  From  the  Tanana  River  to  the  Kuskokwim — 
Thence  to  the  Iditerod  Mining  Camp — 
Thence  to  the  Yukon,  and  Up  That  River 
TO  Fort  Yukon 294 

XI.     The  Natives  of  Alaska 348 

XII.     Photography  in  the  Arctic 371 

XIII.  The  Northern  Lights       380 

XIV.  The  Alaskan  Dogs 392 

Index 413 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Hudson  Stuck  {photogravure) Frontispiece 

Facing  Page 

Sunrise  on  the  Chandalar-Koyukuk  portage 36 

Coldfoot  on  the  Koyukuk 40 

Prospecting  for  gold  in  the  Koyukuk  country.     Coming  up  from  a 

shaft  nearly  three  hundred  feet  deep 46 

The  upper  Koyukuk 50 

The  "canon"  of  the  Koyukuk 54 

A  gathering  of  miners  at  the  Koyukuk  camp 56 

The  wide  wind-swept  uplands  of  the  Yukon-Koyukuk  portage  {colored 

plate) 60 

The  barren  shores  of  Kotzebue  Sound 104 

Gold-mining  at  home 122 

Esquimau  children  (many  half-breeds)  at  a  government  school    .     .  130 

The  junction  of  the  Yukon  and  Tanana  Rivers.     Mission  and  native 

village  at  Tanana  in  the  foreground 150 

Pulling  the  Pf/iVan  out  with  a  "Spanish  windlass" 162 

The  start  over  the  "first  ice" 164 

"Rough  going" 168 

Thedog"Fido"  (such  a  name  for  a  Siwash  dog!) 174 

Arthur  and  Doctor  Burke 178 

Saint   John's-in-the-Wilderness,    AUakaket,    Koyukuk    River    {colored 

plate) 182 

The  double  interpretation  at  the  AUakaket       186 

Lunch  at  50°  below  zero 206 

xvii 


xviii  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Facing  Page 

Rampart 220 

The  wind-swept  Yukon  within  the  ramparts 226 

Some  of  Miss  Farthing's  boys 244 

The  one  "engineered  road"  in  Alaska  of  any  extent — the  Valdez-Fair- 

banks  trail 248 

A  pleasant  woodland  trail 256 

Crossing  the  Clearwater 258 

An  Alaskan  chief  and  his  henchman 262 

The  Tanana  crossing 270 

The  "canon"  of  the  Fortymile 282 

Good  going  on  the  Yukon 284 

"A  portage  that  comes  so  finely  down  to  the  Yukon  that  there  is  pleas- 
ure in  anticipating  the  view  it  affords"  {colored plate) 290 

Fort  Yukon 292 

The  rough  breaking  in  of  Doctor  Loomis,  camped  on  the  mail  trail  at 

50°  below  zero,  unable  to  reach  a  road-house  for  the  deep  snow  .  296 

Lake  Minchumina  Indians 306 

The  Talida  Mountains 310 

Esquimaux  of  the  upper  Kuskokwim        314 

"Now  following  a  narrow  steep  woodland  trail" 318 

Striking  across  country  from  the  Kuskokwim  to  the  Iditerod       .     .     .  322 

"The  'summit'  is  high  above  timber-line  and  the  trail  pursues  a  hog- 
back ridge  for  a  mile  and  a  half  at  the  summit  level"       ....  324 

A  street  in  Iditerod  City 326 

Overflow  ice  {colored  plate) 332 

The  end  of  the  portage  trail        334 

Rough  ice  on  the  Yukon t 338 

A  docile  folk,  eager  for  instruction 350 


ILLUSTRATIONS  xix 

Facing  Page 

The  mission  type 356 

Wild  and  shy        356 

The  native  communicant        360 

Raw  material        360 

An  Esquimau  youth 362 

A  half-breed  Indian 362 

An  aged  couple 366 

Football  at  the  Allakaket,  exposure  l-iooo  second,  April,  after  a  new 

light  snowfall 374 

The  sun  dogs 388 

"Tan,"  of  mixed  breed 394 

"Muk,"  a  pure  malamute 394 

"Snowball,"  a  bird  dog 398 

"Jimmy" 398 

The  team  waiting  to  be  fed  on  the  cooked  food  in  the  pan       ....  404 

Map  of  the  interior  of  Alaska  showing  journeys  described  in  this  book 

At  end  of  volume 


TEN   THOUSAND   MILES   WITH 
A   DOG   SLED 


TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH 
A  DOG  SLED 

CHAPTER  I 

FAIRBANKS  TO  THE   CHANDALAR  THROUGH   CIRCLE   CITY 
AND  FORT  YUKON 

The  plan  for  the  winter  journey  of  1905-6  (my 
second  winter  on  the  trail)  was  an  ambitious  one,  for 
it  contemplated  a  visit  to  Point  Hope,  on  the  shore  of 
the  Arctic  Ocean  between  Kotzebue  Sound  and  Point 
Barrow,  and  a  return  to  Fairbanks.  In  the  summer 
such  a  journey  would  be  practicable  only  by  water: 
down  the  Tanana  to  the  Yukon,  down  the  Yukon  to  its 
mouth,  and  then  through  the  straits  of  Bering  and  along 
the  Arctic  coast;  in  the  winter  it  is  possible  to  make 
the  journey  across  country.  A  desire  to  visit  our  most 
northerly  and  most  inaccessible  mission  in  Alaska  and 
a  desire  to  become  acquainted  with  general  conditions 
in  the  wide  country  north  of  the  Yukon  were  equal 
factors  in  the  planning  of  a  journey  which  would  carry 
me  through  three  and  a  half  degrees  of  latitude  and 
no  less  than  eighteen  degrees  of  longitude. 

The  course  of  winter  travel   in  Alaska  follows  the 

frozen    waterways    so  far  as  they  lead  in  the  general 

3 


4     TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

direction  desired,  leaves  them  to  cross  mountain  ranges 
and  divides  at  the  most  favourable  points,  and  drops 
down  into  the  streams  again  so  soon  as  streams  are 
available.  The  country  is  notably  well  watered  and  the 
waterways  are  the  natural  highways.  The  more  fre- 
quented routes  gradually  cut  out  the  serpentine  bends 
of  the  rivers  by  land  trails,  but  in  the  wilder  parts  of 
the  country  travel  sticks  to  the  ice. 

Our  course,  therefore,  lay  up  the  Chatanika  River 
and  one  of  its  tributaries  until  the  Tanana- Yukon  water- 
shed was  reached;  then  through  the  mountains,  cross- 
ing two  steep  summits  to  the  Yukon  slope,  and  down 
that  slope  by  convenient  streams  to  the  Yukon  River 
at  Circle  City. 

We  set  out  on  the  27th  of  November  with  six  dogs 
and  a  "basket"  sled  and  about  five  hundred  pounds' 
weight  of  load,  including  tent  and  stove,  bedding,  clothes 
for  the  winter,  grub  box  and  its  equipment,  and  dog 
feed.  The  dogs  were  those  that  I  had  used  the  pre- 
vious winter,  with  one  exception.  The  leader  had  come 
home  lame  from  the  fish  camp  where  he  had  been  boarded 
during  the  summer,  and,  despite  all  attentions,  the  lame- 
ness had  persisted;  so  he  must  be  left  behind,  and 
there  was  much  difficulty  in  securing  another  leader.  A 
recent  stampede  to  a  new  mining  district  had  advanced 
the  price  of  dogs  and  gathered  up  all  the  good  ones,  so 
it  was  necessary  to  hunt  all  over  Fairbanks  and  pay  a 
hundred  dollars  for  a  dog  that  proved  very  indifferent, 
after  all.  "Jimmy"  was  a  handsome  beast,  the  hand- 
somest I  ever  owned  and  the  costliest,  but,  as  I  learned 


THE  GOLD  TRAIN  5 

later  from  one  who  knew  his  history,  had  "travelled  on 
his  looks  all  his  life."  He  earned  the  name  of  "Jimmy 
the  Fake." 

Midway  to  Cleary  "City,"  on  the  chief  gold-produc- 
ing creek  of  the  district,  our  first  day's  run,  we  encoun- 
tered the  gold  train.  For  some  time  previous  a  lone 
highwayman  had  robbed  solitary  miners  on  their  way 
to  Fairbanks  with  gold-dust,  and  now  a  posse  was  organ- 
ised that  went  the  rounds  of  the  creeks  and  gathered 
up  the  dust  and  bore  it  on  mule-back  to  the  bank,  es- 
corted by  half  a  dozen  armed  and  mounted  men.  Sawed- 
off  shotguns  were  the  favourite  weapons,  and  one 
judged  them  deadly  enough  at  short  range.  The  heavy 
"pokes"  galled  the  animals'  backs,  however  they  might 
be  slung,  and  the  little  procession  wound  slowly  along, 
a  man  ahead,  a  man  behind,  and  four  clustered  round 
the  treasure. 

These  raw,  temporary  mining  towns  are  much  alike 
the  world  over,  one  supposes,  though  perhaps  a  little 
worse  up  here  in  the  far  north.  It  was  late  at  night 
when  we  reached  the  place,  but  saloon  and  dance-hall 
were  ablaze  with  light  and  loud  with  the  raucity  of 
phonographs  and  the  stamping  of  feet.  Everything 
was  "wide  open,"  and  there  was  not  even  the  thinnest 
veneer  of  respectability.  Drinking  and  gambling  and 
dancing  go  on  all  night  long.  Drunken  men  reel  out 
upon  the  snow;  painted  faces  leer  over  muslin  curtains 
as  one  passes  by.  Without  any  government,  without 
any  pretence  of  municipal  organisation,  there  is  no  co- 
operation for  public  enterprise.     There  are  no  streets. 


6     TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

there  are  no  sidewalks  save  such  as  a  man  may  choose 
to  lay  in  front  of  his  own  premises,  and  the  simplest 
sanitary  precautions  are  entirely  neglected.  Nothing 
but  the  cold  climate  of  the  north  prevents  epidemic 
disease  from  sweeping  through  these  places.  They  rise 
in  a  few  days  wherever  gold  is  found  in  quantities,  they 
flourish  as  the  production  increases,  decline  with  its  de- 
cline, and  are  left  gaunt,  dark,  and  abandoned  so  soon 
as  the  diggings  are  exhausted. 

The  next  day  we  were  on  the  Chatanika  River,  to 
which  Cleary  Creek  is  tributary,  and  were  immediately 
confronted  with  one  of  the  main  troubles  and  difficul- 
ties of  winter  travel  in  this  and,  as  may  be  supposed, 
in  any  arctic  or  subarctic  country — overflow  water. 

In  the  lesser  rivers,  where  deep  pools  alternate  with 
swift  shallows,  the  stream  freezes  solid  to  the  bottom 
upon  the  shoals  and  riffles.  Since  the  subterranean  foun- 
tains that  supply  the  river  do  not  cease  to  discharge 
their  waters  in  the  winter,  however  cold  it  may  be, 
there  comes  presently  an  increasing  pressure  under  the 
ice  above  such  a  barrier.  The  pent-up  water  is  strong 
enough  to  heave  the  ice  into  mounds  and  at  last  to 
break  forth,  spreading  itself  far  along  the  frozen  sur- 
face of  the  river.  At  times  it  may  be  seen  gushing  out 
like  an  artesian  well,  rising  three  or  four  feet  above  the 
surface  of  the  ice,  until  the  pressure  is  relieved.  Some- 
times for  many  miles  at  a  stretch  the  whole  river  will 
be  covered  with  a  succession  of  such  overflows,  from 
two  or  three  inches  deep  to  eight  or  ten,  or  even  twelve; 
some  just  bursting  forth,   some  partially  frozen,   some 


OVERFLOW  WATER  AND  ICE  7 

resolved  into  solid  "glare"  ice.  Thus  the  surface  of  the 
river  is  continually  renewed  the  whole  winter  through, 
and  a  section  of  the  ice  crust  in  the  spring  would  show 
a  series  of  laminations;  here  ice  upon  ice,  there  ice  upon 
half-incorporated  snow,  that  mark  the  successive  inun- 
dations. 

This  explanation  has  been  given  at  length  because 
of  the  large  part  that  the  phenomenon  plays  in  the  dif- 
ficulty and  danger  of  winter  travel,  and  because  it  seems 
hard  to  make  those  who  are  not  familiar  with  it  under- 
stand it.  At  first  sight  it  would  seem  that  after  a  week 
or  ten  days  of  fifty-below-zero  weather,  for  instance,  all 
water  everywhere  would  be  frozen  into  quiescence  for 
the  rest  of  the  winter.  Throw  a  bucket  of  water  into 
the  air,  and  it  is  frozen  solid  as  soon  as  it  reaches  the 
ground.  There  would  be  no  more  trouble,  one  would 
think,  with  water.  Yet  some  of  the  worst  trouble  the 
traveller  has  with  overflow  water  is  during  very  cold 
weather,  and  it  is  then,  of  course,  that  there  is  the  great- 
est danger  of  frost-bite  in  getting  one's  feet  wet.  Water- 
proof footwear,  therefore,  becomes  one  of  the  "musher's" 
great  concerns  and  difficulties.  The  best  water-proof 
footwear  is  the  Esquimau  mukluk,  not  easily  obtain- 
able in  the  interior  of  Alaska,  but  the  mukluk  is  an 
inconvenient  footwear  to  put  snow-shoes  on.  Rubber 
boots  or  shoes  of  any  kind  are  most  uncomfortable  things 
to  travel  in.  Nothing  equals  the  moccasin  on  the  trail, 
nothing  is  so  good  to  snow-shoe  in.  The  well-equipped 
traveller  has  moccasins  for  dry  trails  and  mukluks  for 
wet  trails — and  even  then  may  sometimes  get  his  feet 


8     TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

wet.  Nor  are  his  own  feet  his  only  consideration;  his 
dogs'  feet  are,  collectively,  as  important  as  his  own. 
When  the  dog  comes  out  of  water  into  snow  again  the 
snow  collects  and  freezes  between  the  toes,  and  if  not 
removed  will  soon  cause  a  sore  and  lameness.  Then  a 
dog  moccasin  must  be  put  on  and  the  foot  continually 
nursed  and  doctored.  When  several  dogs  of  a  team  are 
thus  affected,  it  may  be  with  several  feet  each,  the  labour 
and  trouble  of  travel  are  greatly  increased. 

So,  whenever  his  dogs  have  been  through  water,  the 
careful  musher  will  stop  and  go  all  down  the  line,  clean- 
ing out  the  ice  and  snow  from  their  feet  with  his  fingers. 
Four  interdigital  spaces  per  foot  make  sixteen  per  dog, 
and  with  a  team  of  six  dogs  that  means  ninety-six  sev- 
eral operations  with  the  bare  hand  (if  it  be  done  effec- 
tually) every  time  the  team  gets  into  an  overflow.  The 
dogs  will  do  it  for  themselves  if  they  are  given  time, 
tearing  out  the  lumps  of  ice  with  their  teeth;  but,  inas- 
much as  they  usually  feel  conscientiously  obliged  to  eat 
each  lump  as  they  pull  it  out,  it  takes  much  longer,  and 
in  a  short  daylight  there  is  little  time  to  spare  if  the 
day's  march  is  to  be  made. 

We  found  overflow  almost  as  soon  as  we  reached  the 
Chatanika  River,  and  in  one  form  or  another  we  en- 
countered it  during  all  the  two  days  and  a  half  that 
we  were  pursuing  the  river's  windings.  At  times  it 
was  covered  with  a  sheet  of  new  ice  that  would  sup- 
port the  dogs  but  would  not  support  the  sled,  so  that 
the  dogs  were  travelling  on  one  level  and  the  sled  on 
another,  and  a  man  had   to  walk  along  in  the  water 


"OVERFLOW"  ICE  9 

between  the  dogs  and  the  sled  for  several  hundred 
yards  at  a  time,  breaking  down  the  overflow  ice  with 
his  feet. 

At  other  times  the  thin  sheets  of  overflow  ice  would 
sway  and  bend  as  the  sled  passed  quickly  over  them  in 
a  way  that  gives  to  ice  in  such  condition  its  Alaskan 
name  of  "rubber-ice,"  while  for  the  fifteen  or  twenty 
miles  of  McManus  Creek,  the  headwaters  of  the  Chat- 
anika,  we  had  continuous  stretches  of  fine  glare  ice  with 
enough  frost  crystals  upon  it  from  condensing  moisture 
to  give  a  "tooth"  to  the  dogs'  feet,  just  as  varnish  on 
a  photographic  negative  gives  tooth  to  the  retouching 
pencil.  Perfectly  smooth  ice  is  a  very  difficult  surface 
for  dogs  to  pass  over;  glare  ice  slightly  roughened  by 
frost  deposit  makes  splendid,  fast  going. 

Eighty-five  miles  or  so  from  Fairbanks,  and  just 
about  half-way  to  Circle,  the  watercourse  is  left  and 
the  first  summit  is  the  "Twelve-Mile,"  as  it  is  called. 
We  tried  hard  to  take  our  load  up  at  one  trip,  but  found 
it  impossible  to  do  so,  and  had  to  unlash  the  sled  and 
take  half  the  load  at  a  time,  caching  it  on  the  top  while 
we  returned  for  the  other  half. 

It  took  us  half  a  day  to  get  our  load  to  the  top  of 
the  Twelve-Mile  summit,  a  rise  of  about  one  thousand 
three  hundred  feet  from  the  creek  bed  as  the  aneroid 
gave  it.  In  the  steeper  pitches  we  had  to  take  the  axe 
and  cut  steps,  so  hard  and  smooth  does  the  incessant 
wind  at  these  heights  beat  the  snow,  and  on  our  second 
trip  to  the  top  we  were  just  in  time  to  rescue  a  roll  of 
bedding  that  had  been  blown  from  the  cache  and  was 


lo    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

about  to  descend  a  gully  from  which  we  could  hardly 
have  recovered  it. 

This  summit  descended,  we  were  in  Birch  Creek 
water,  and  had  we  followed  the  watercourse  would  have 
reached  the  Yukon;  but  we  would  have  travelled  hun- 
dreds of  miles  and  would  have  come  out  below  Fort 
Yukon,  while  we  were  bound  for  Circle  City.  So  there 
was  another  and  a  yet  more  difficult  summit  to  cross 
before  we  could  descend  the  Yukon  slope.  We  were 
able  to  hire  a  man  and  two  dogs  to  help  us  over  the 
Eagle  summit,  so  that  the  necessity  of  relaying  was 
avoided.  One  man  ahead  continually  calling  to  the 
dogs,  eight  dogs  steadily  pulling,  and  two  men  behind 
steadily  pushing,  foot  by  foot,  with  many  stoppages  as 
one  bench  after  another  was  surmounted,  we  got  the 
load  to  the  top  at  last,  a  rise  of  one  thousand  four  hun- 
dred feet  in  less  than  three  miles.  A  driving  snow- 
storm cut  off  all  view  and  would  have  left  us  at  a  loss 
which  way  to  proceed  but  for  the  stakes  that  indicated 
it. 

The  descent  was  as  anxious  and  hazardous  as  the 
ascent  had  been  laborious.  The  dogs  were  loosed  and 
sent  racing  down  the  slope.  With  a  rope  rough-lock 
around  the  sled  runners,  one  man  took  the  gee  pole  and 
another  the  handle-bars  and  each  spread-eagled  himself 
through  the  loose  deep  snow  to  check  the  momentum  of 
the  sled,  until  sled  and  men  turned  aside  and  came  to  a 
stop  in  a  drift  to  avoid  a  steep,  smooth  pitch.  The  sled 
extricated,  it  was  poised  on  the  edge  of  the  pitch  and 
turned  loose  on  the  hardened  snow,  hurtling  down  three 


"SUMMITS"  II 

or  four  hundred  feet  until  It  buried  itself  in  another  drift. 
The  dogs  were  necessary  to  drag  it  from  this  drift,  and 
one  had  to  go  down  and  bring  them  up.  Then  again 
they  were  loosed,  and  from  bench  to  bench  the  process 
was  repeated  until  the  slope  grew  gentle  enough  to  per- 
mit the  regulation  of  the  downward  progress  by  the 
foot-brake. 

The  Eagle  summit  is  one  of  the  most  difficult  sum- 
mits in  Alaska.  The  wind  blows  so  fiercely  that  some- 
times for  days  together  its  passage  is  almost  impossible. 
No  amount  of  trail  making  could  be  of  much  help,  for 
the  snow  smothers  up  everything  on  the  lee  of  the  hill, 
and  the  end  of  every  storm  presents  a  new  surface  and 
an  altered  route.  A  "summit"  in  this  Alaskan  sense 
is,  of  course,  a  saddle  between  peaks,  and  in  this  case 
there  is  no  easier  pass  and  no  way  around.  The  only 
way  to  avoid  the  Eagle  summit,  without  going  out  of 
the  district  altogether,  would  be  to  tunnel  it. 

The  summit  passed,  we  found  better  trails  and  a 
more  frequented  country,  for  in  this  district  are  a  num- 
ber of  creeks  that  draw  supplies  from  Circle  City,  and 
that  had  been  worked  ten  years  or  more. 

At  the  time  of  the  Klondike  stampede  of  1896-97, 
Circle  City  was  already  established  as  a  flourishing  min- 
ing camp  and  boasted  itself  the  largest  log-cabin  town 
in  the  world.  Before  the  Klondike  drew  away  its  people 
as  a  stronger  magnet  draws  iron  filings  from  a  lesser  one, 
Circle  had  a  population  of  about  three  thousand.  Take 
a  town  of  three  thousand  and  reduce  it  to  thirty  or 
forty,  and  it  is  hard  to  resist  the  melancholy  impres- 


12    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

sion  which  entrance  upon  it  in  the  dusk  of  the  eve- 
ning brings.  There  lay  the  great  white  Yukon  in  the 
middle  distance;  beyond  it  the  Yukon  Flats,  snow-cov- 
ered, desolate,  stretched  away  enormously,  hedged  here 
at  their  beginning  by  grey,  dim  hills.  Spread  out  in 
the  foreground  were  the  little,  squat,  huddling  cabins 
that  belonged  to  no  one,  with  never  a  light  in  a  window 
or  smoke  from  a  chimney,  the  untrodden  snow  drifted 
against  door  and  porch.  It  would  be  hard  to  imagine 
a  drearier  prospect,  and  one  had  the  feeling  that  it  was 
a  city  of  the  dead  rather  than  merely  a  dead  city. 

The  weather  had  grown  steadily  colder  since  we 
reached  the  Yukon  slope,  and  for  two  days  before  reach- 
ing Circle  the  thermometer  had  stood  between  40°  and 
50°  below  zero.  It  was  all  right  for  us  to  push  on,  the 
trail  was  good  and  nearly  all  down-hill,  and  there  were 
road-houses  every  ten  or  twelve  miles.  Freighters,  weath- 
erbound, came  to  the  doors  as  we  passed  by  with  our 
jangle  of  bells  and  would  raise  a  somewhat  chechaco  pride 
in  our  breasts  by  remarking:  "You  don't  seem  to  care 
what  weather  you  travel  in!"  The  evil  of  it  was  that 
the  perfectly  safe  travelling  between  Eagle  Creek  and 
Circle  emboldened  us  to  push  on  from  Circle  under 
totally  different  conditions,  when  travelling  at  such  low 
temperatures  became  highly  dangerous  and  brought  us 
into  grave  misadventure  that  might  easily  have  been 
fatal  catastrophe. 

Our  original  start  was  a  week  later  than  had  been 
planned  and  we  had  made  no  time,  but  rather  lost  it, 
on   this  first   division  of  the  journey.     If  we  were  to 


THE  YUKON   FLATS  13 

reach  Bettles  on  the  Koyukuk  River  for  Christmas,  there 
was  no  more  time  to  lose,  and  I  was  anxious  to  spend 
the  next  Sunday  at  Fort  Yukon,  three  days'  journey 
away.  So  we  started  for  Fort  Yukon  on  Thursday,  the 
7th  of  December,  the  day  after  we  reached  Circle. 

A  certain  arctic  traveller  has  said  that  "adventures" 
always  imply  either  incompetence  or  ignorance  of  local 
conditions,  and  there  is  some  truth  in  the  saying.  Our 
misadventure  was  the  result  of  a  series  of  mistakes,  no 
one  of  which  would  have  been  other  than  discreditable 
to  men  of  more  experience.  Our  course  lay  for  seventy- 
five  miles  through  the  Yukon  Flats,  which  begin  at 
Circle  and  extend  for  two  hundred  and  fifty  miles  of  the 
river's  course  below  that  point.  The  Flats  constitute 
the  most  difficult  and  dangerous  part  of  the  whole 
length  of  the  Yukon  River,  summer  or  winter,  and  the 
section  between  Circle  City  and  Fort  Yukon  is  the  most 
difficult  and  dangerous  part  of  the  Flats.  Save  for  a 
"portage"  or  land  trail  of  eighteen  or  twenty  miles  out 
of  Circle,  the  trail  is  on  the  river  itself,  which  is  split 
up  into  many  channels  without  salient  landmarks.  The 
current  is  so  swift  that  many  stretches  run  open  water 
far  into  the  winter,  and  blow-holes  are  numerous.  There 
is  little  travel  on  the  Flats  in  winter,  and  a  snow-storm 
accompanied  by  wind  may  obliterate  what  trail  there  is 
in  an  hour.  The  vehicle  used  in  the  Flats  is  not  a  sled 
but  a  toboggan,  and  our  first  mistake  was  in  not  con- 
forming to  local  usage  in  this  respect.  There  is  always 
a  very  good  reason  for  local  usage  about  snow  vehicles. 
But  a  toboggan  which  had  been  ordered  from  a  native 


14    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

at  Fort  Yukon  would  be  waiting  for  us,  and  it  seemed 
not  worth  while  to  go  to  the  expense  of  buying  another 
merely  for  three  days'  journey. 

The  second  mistake  was  in  engaging  a  boy  as  guide 
instead  of  a  man.  He  was  an  attractive  youth  of  about 
fourteen  who  had  done  good  service  at  the  Circle  City 
mission  the  previous  winter,  when  our  nurse-in-charge 
was  contending  single-handed  against  an  epidemic  of 
diphtheria.  He  was  a  pleasant  boy,  with  some  English, 
who  wanted  to  go  and  professed  knowledge  of  the  route. 
The  greatest  mistake  of  all  was  starting  out  through 
that  lonely  waste  with  the  thermometer  at  52°  below 
zero.  The  old-timers  in  Alaska  have  a  saying  that 
"travelling  at  50°  below  is  all  right  as  long  as  it's  all 
right."  If  there  be  a  good  trail,  if  there  be  convenient 
stopping-places,  if  nothing  go  wrong,  one  may  travel 
without  special  risk  and  with  no  extraordinary  discom- 
fort at  50°  below  zero  and  a  good  deal  lower.  I  have 
since  that  time  made  a  short  day's  run  at  62°  below, 
and  once  travelled  for  two  or  three  hours  on  a  stretch 
at  65°  below.  But  there  is  always  more  or  less  chance 
in  travelling  at  low  temperatures,  because  a  very  small 
thing  may  necessitate  a  stop,  and  a  stop  may  turn  into 
a  serious  thing.  At  such  temperatures  one  must  keep 
going.  No  amount  of  clothing  that  it  is  possible  to  wear 
on  the  trail  will  keep  one  warm  while  standing  still.  For 
dogs  and  men  alike,  constant  brisk  motion  is  necessary; 
for  dogs  as  well  as  men — even  though  dogs  will  sleep  out- 
doors in  such  cold  without  harm — for  they  cannot  take 
as  good  care  of  themselves  in  the  harness  as  they  can 


SUNRISE  AND  SUNSET  15 

when  loose.  A  trace  that  needs  mending,  a  broken 
buckle,  a  snow-shoe  string  that  must  be  replaced,  may 
chill  one  so  that  it  is  impossible  to  recover  one's  warmth 
again.  The  bare  hand  cannot  be  exposed  for  many 
seconds  without  beginning  to  freeze;  it  is  dangerous  to 
breathe  the  air  into  the  lungs  for  any  length  of  time 
without  a  muffler  over  the  mouth. 

Our  troubles  began  as  soon  as  we  started.  The  trail 
was  a  narrow,  winding  toboggan  track  of  sixteen  or  sev- 
enteen inches,  while  our  sled  was  twenty  inches  wide, 
so  that  one  runner  was  always  dragging  in  the  loose 
snow,  and  that  meant  slow,  heavy  going. 

The  days  were  nearing  the  shortest  of  the  year,  when, 
in  these  latitudes,  the  sun  does  but  show  himself  and 
withdraw  again.  But,  especially  in  very  cold  weather, 
which  is  nearly  always  very  clear  weather,  that  brief 
appearance  is  preceded  by  a  feast  of  rich,  delicate  colour. 
First  a  greenish  glow  on  the  southern  horizon,  brighten- 
ing into  lemon  and  then  into  clear  primrose,  invades 
the  deep  purple  of  the  starry  heavens.  Then  a  beautiful 
circle  of  blush  pink  above  a  circle  of  pure  amethyst 
gradually  stretches  all  around  the  edge  of  the  sky,  slowly 
brightening  while  the  stars  fade  out  and  the  heavens 
change  to  blue.  The  dead  white  mirror  of  the  snow 
takes  every  tint  that  the  skies  display  with  a  faint  but 
exquisite  radiance.  Then  the  sun's  disk  appears  with  a 
flood  of  yellow  light  but  with  no  appreciable  warmth, 
and  for  a  little  space  his  level  rays  shoot  out  and  gild 
the  tree  tops  and  the  distant  hills.  The  snow  springs 
to  life.     Dead  white  no  longer,  its  dry,  crystalline  par- 


1 6    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

tides  glitter  in  myriads  of  diamond  facets  with  every 
colour  of  the  prism.  Then  the  sun  is  gone,  and  the 
lovely  circle  of  rose  pink  over  amethyst  again  stretches 
round  the  horizon,  slowly  fading  until  once  more  the 
pale  primrose  glows  in  the  south  against  the  purple  sky 
with  its  silver  stars.  Thus  sunrise  and  sunset  form  a 
continuous  spectacle,  with  a  purity  of  delicate  yet  splen- 
did colour  that  only  perfectly  dry  atmosphere  permits. 
The  primrose  glow,  the  heralding  circle,  the  ball  of 
orange  light,  the  valedictory  circle,  the  primrose  glow 
again,  and  a  day  has  come  and  gone.  Air  can  hold  no 
moisture  at  all  at  these  low  temperatures,  and  the  skies 
are  cloudless. 

Moreover,  in  the  wilds  at  50°  below  zero  there  is  the 
most  complete  silence.  All  animal  life  is  hidden  away. 
Not  a  rabbit  flits  across  the  trail;  in  the  absolutely  still 
air  not  a  twig  moves.  A  rare  raven  passes  overhead, 
and  his  cry,  changed  from  a  hoarse  croak  to  a  sweet 
liquid  note,  reverberates  like  the  musical  glasses.  There 
is  no  more  delightful  sound  in  the  wilderness  than  this 
occasional  lapse  into  music  of  the  raven.  We  wound 
through  the  scrub  spruce  and  willow  and  over  the  nig- 
gerhead  swamps,  a  faint  tinkle  of  bells,  a  little  cloud  of 
steam;  for  in  the  great  cold  the  moisture  of  the  ani- 
mals' breath  hangs  over  their  heads  in  the  still  air,  and 
on  looking  back  it  stands  awhile  along  the  course  at 
dogs'  height  until  it  is  presently  deposited  on  twigs  and 
tussocks.  We  wound  along,  a  faint  tinkle  of  bells,  a 
little  cloud  of  steam,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  cloud  a 
tousle  of  shaggy  black-and-white  hair  and  red-and-white 


AN  ESCAPADE  ON  THE  YUKON  17 

pompons — going  out  of  the  dead  silence  behind  into  the 
dead  silence  before.  The  dusk  came,  and  still  we  plodded 
and  pushed  our  weary  way,  swinging  that  heavy  sled 
incessantly,  by  the  gee  pole  in  front  and  the  handle- 
bars behind,  in  the  vain  effort  to  keep  it  on  the  trail. 
Two  miles  an  hour  was  all  that  we  were  making.  We 
had  come  but  thirteen  or  fourteen  miles  out  of  twenty- 
four,  and  it  was  dark;   and  it  grew  colder. 

The  dogs  whined  and  stopped  every  few  yards,  worn 
out  by  wallowing  in  the  snow  and  the  labour  of  the 
collar.  The  long  scarfs  that  wrapped  our  mouths  and 
noses  had  been  shifted  and  shifted,  as  one  part  after  an- 
other became  solid  with  ice  from  the  breath,  until  over 
their  whole  length  they  were  stiff  as  boards.  After  two 
more  miles  of  it  it  was  evident  that  we  could  not  reach 
the  mail  cabin  that  night.  Then  I  made  my  last  and 
worst  mistake.  We  should  have  stopped  and  camped 
then  and  there.  We  had  tent  and  stove  and  every- 
thing requisite.  But  the  native  boy  insisted  that  the 
cabin  was  "only  little  way,"  and  any  one  who  knows 
the  misery  of  making  camp  in  extremely  cold  weather, 
in  the  dark,  will  understand  our  reluctance  to  do  so. 

I  decided  to  make  a  cache  of  the  greater  part  of  our 
load — tent  and  stove  and  supplies  generally — and  to 
push  on  to  the  cabin  with  but  the  bedding  and  the 
grub  box,  returning  for  the  stuff  in  the  morning.  And, 
since  in  the  deepest  depths  of  blundering  there  is  a 
deeper  still,  by  some  one's  carelessness,  but  certainly  by 
my  fault,  the  axe  was  left  behind  in  the  cache. 

With  our  reduced  burden  we  made  better  progress. 


1 8    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

and  in  a  short  time  reached  the  end  of  the  portage  and 
came  out  on  the  frozen  river,  just  as  the  moon,  a  day 
or  two  past  the  full,  rose  above  the  opposite  bank.  One 
sees  many  strange  distortions  of  sun  and  moon  in  this 
land,  but  never  was  a  stranger  seen  than  this.  Her 
disk,  shining  through  the  dense  air  of  the  river  bot- 
tom, was  in  shape  an  almost  perfect  octagon,  regular 
as  though  it  had  been  laid  off  with  dividers  and  a 
ruler. 

We  were  soon  in  doubt  about  the  trail.  The  mail- 
carrier  had  gone  down  only  two  or  three  times  this 
winter  and  each  time  had  taken  a  different  route,  as 
more  and  more  of  the  river  closed  and  gave  him  more 
and  more  direct  passage.  A  number  of  Indians  had 
been  hunting,  and  their  tracks  added  to  the  tangle  of 
trails.  Presently  we  entered  a  thick  mist  that  even  to 
inexperienced  eyes  spoke  of  open  water  or  new  ice  yet 
moist.  So  heavy  was  the  vapour  that  to  the  man  at 
the  handle-bars  the  man  at  the  gee  pole  loomed  ghostly, 
and  the  man  ahead  of  the  dogs  could  not  be  distinguished 
at  all.  We  had  gone  so  much  farther  than  our  native 
boy  had  declared  we  had  to  go  that  we  began  to  fear 
that  in  the  confusion  of  trails  we  had  taken  the  wrong 
one  and  had  passed  the  cabin.  That  is  the  tenderfoot's, 
or,  as  we  say,  the  chechaco's,  fear;  it  is  the  one  thing 
that  it  may  almost  be  said  never  happens.  But  the 
boy  fell  down  completely  and  was  frankly  at  a  loss.  All 
we  could  get  out  of  him  was:  "May-be-so  we  catch 
cabin  bymeby,  may-be-so  no."  If  we  had  passed  the 
cabin   it   was   twenty   odd   miles   to   the   next;   and   it 


AN  ESCAPADE  ON  THE  YUKON  19 

grew  colder  and  the  dogs  were  utterly  weary  again, 
prone  upon  the  trail  at  every  small  excuse  for  a  stop, 
onlyto  be  stirred  by  the  whip,  heavily  wielded.  Surely 
never  men  thrust  themselves  foolhardily  into  worse  pre- 
dicament! Then  I  made  my  last  mistake.  Dimly  the 
bank  loomed  through  the  mist,  and  I  said:  "We  can't 
go  any  farther;  I  think  we've  missed  the  trail  and  I'm 
going  across  to  yon  bank  to  see  if  there's  a  place  to 
camp."  I  had  not  gone  six  steps  from  the  trail  when 
the  ice  gave  way  under  my  feet  and  I  found  myself  in 
water  to  my  hips. 

Under  Providence  I  owe  it  to  the  mukluks  I  wore, 
tied  tight  round  my  knees,  that  I  did  not  lose  my  life, 
or  at  least  my  feet.  The  thermometer  at  Circle  City 
stood  at  60°  below  zero  at  dark  that  day,  and  down  on 
the  ice  it  is  always  about  5°  colder  than  on  the  bank, 
because  cold  air  is  heavy  air  and  sinks  to  the  lowest 
level,  and  65°  below  zero  means  97°  below  freezing. 

My  moose-hide  breeches  froze  solid  the  moment  I 
scrambled  out,  but  not  a  drop  of  water  got  to  my  feet. 
If  the  water  had  reached  my  feet  they  would  have 
frozen  almost  as  quickly  as  the  moose  hide  in  that  fear- 
ful cold.  Thoroughly  alarmed  now,  and  realising  our 
perilous  situation,  we  did  the  only  thing  there  was  to 
do — we  turned  the  dogs  loose  and  abandoned  the  sled  and 
went  back  along  the  trail  we  had  followed  as  fast  as  we 
could.  We  knew  that  we  could  safely  retrace  our  steps 
and  that  the  trail  would  lead  us  to  the  bank  after  a 
while.  We  knew  not  where  the  trail  would  lead  us  in 
the  other  direction.     As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  led  to  the 


20    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

mail  cabin,  two  miles  farther  on,  and  the  mail-carrier 
was  at  that  time  occupying  it  at  the  end  of  his  day's 
run. 

The  dogs  stayed  with  the  sled;  dogs  will  usually 
stay  with  their  sled;  they  seem  to  recognise  their  first 
allegiance  to  the  load  they  haul,  probably  because  they 
know  their  food  forms  part  of  it. 

Our  cache  reached,  we  made  a  fire,  thawed  out  the 
iron-like  armour  of  my  leather  breeches,  and  cutting  a 
spare  woollen  scarf  in  two,  wrapped  the  dry,  warm 
pieces  about  my  numbed  thighs.  Then  we  pushed  on 
the  eighteen  miles  or  so  to  Circle,  keeping  a  steady  pace 
despite  the  drowsiness  that  oppressed  us,  and  that  op- 
pressed me  particularly  owing  to  the  chill  of  my  duck- 
ing. About  five  in  the  morning  we  reached  the  town, 
and  the  clergyman,  the  Reverend  C.  E.  Rice,  turned 
out  of  his  warm  bed  and  I  turned  in,  none  the  worse 
in  body  for  the  experience,  but  much  humbled  in  spirit. 
My  companion,  Mr.  E.  J.  Knapp,  whose  thoughtful 
care  for  me  I  always  look  back  upon  with  gratitude, 
as  well  as  upon  Mr.  Rice's  kindness,  froze  his  nose  and 
a  toe  slightly,  being  somewhat  neglectful  of  himself  in 
his  solicitude  for  me. 

We  had  been  out  about  twenty  hours  in  a  tempera- 
ture ranging  from  52°  to  60°  below  zero,  had  walked 
about  forty-four  miles,  labouring  incessantly  as  well  as 
walking,  what  time  we  were  with  the  sled,  with  nothing  to 
eat — it  was  too  cold  to  stop  for  eating — and,  in  addition 
to  this,  one  of  us  had  been  in  water  to  the  waist,  yet 
none  of  us  took  any  harm.     It  was  a  providential  over- 


FORT  YUKON  21 

ruling  of  blundering  foolhardiness  for  which  we  were 
deeply  thankful. 

The  next  day  a  native  with  a  fast  team  and  an  empty 
toboggan  was  sent  down  to  take  our  load  on  to  the 
cabin  and  bring  the  dogs  back.  Meanwhile,  the  mail- 
carrier  had  passed  the  spot,  had  seen  the  abandoned 
sled  standing  by  recently  broken  ice,  and  had  come  on 
into  town  while  we  slept  and  none  knew  of  our  return, 
with  the  news  that  some  one  had  been  drowned.  The 
mail  for  Fairbanks  did  but  await  the  mail  from  Fort 
Yukon,  and  the  town  rumour,  instantly  identifying  the 
abandoned  sled,  was  carried  across  to  Fairbanks,  to  my 
great  distress  and  annoyance.  The  echoes  of  the  dis- 
torted account  of  this  misadventure  which  appeared  in  a 
Fairbanks  newspaper  still  reverberate  in  "patent  in- 
sides"  of  the  provincial  press  of  the  United  States. 

The  next  Monday  we  started  again,  this  time  with 
a  toboggan  and  with  a  man  instead  of  a  boy  for  guide, 
and  in  three  days  of  only  moderate  diflficulty  we  reached 
Fort  Yukon. 

Fort  Yukon,  though  it  holds  no  attraction  for  the 
ordinary  visitor  or  the  summer  tourist  on  the  river,  is 
a  place  of  much  interest  to  those  who  know  the  history 
of  Alaska.  While  it  is  purely  a  native  village,  with  no 
white  population  save  the  traders  and  the  usual  sprin- 
kling of  men  that  hang  around  native  villages,  it  is  yet 
the  oldest  white  man's  post  on  the  Yukon  River,  save 
the  post  established  by  the  Russians  at  Nulato,  five  or 
six  hundred  miles  lower  down.  The  Hudson  Bay  Com- 
pany established  itself  here  in  1846,  and  that  date  serves 


22    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

as  the  year  one  in  making  calculations  and  determining 
ages  to  this  day.  It  is  a  fixed  point  in  time  that  every 
native  knows  of.  Any  old  man  can  tell  you  whether 
he  was  born  before  or  after  that  date,  and,  if  before, 
can  pick  out  some  boy  that  is  about  the  age  he  was 
when  the  event  occurred.  The  massacre  at  Nulato  in 
185 1  serves  in  a  similar  way  for  the  lower  river. 

After  the  Purchase,  and  the  determination  of  the 
longitude  of  Fort  Yukon  by  Mr.  Raymond  in  1869 — • 
who  made  the  first  steamboat  journey  up  the  Yukon  on 
that  errand — the  Hudson  Bay  Company  moved  three 
times  before  they  succeeded  in  getting  east  of  the  141st 
meridian,  and  at  the  point  reached  on  the  third  move, 
the  New  Rampart  House  on  the  Porcupine  River,  only 
a  few  hundred  yards  beyond  the  boundary-line,  they 
remained  until  the  gold  excitement  on  the  Yukon  and 
the  journeying  of  the  natives  to  new  posts  on  that  river 
rendered  trading  unprofitable;  then  they  withdrew  to 
the  Mackenzie.  The  oldest  white  men's  graves  in  Alaska, 
again  with  the  exception  of  Nulato,  are  those  in  the  little 
Hudson  Bay  cemetery  near  Fort  Yukon. 

Fort  Yukon  is  also  the  site  of  the  oldest  missionary 
station  on  the  river,  unless  there  were  earlier  visits  of 
Russian  priests  to  the  lower  river,  of  which  there  seems 
no  record,  for  in  1862  there  was  a  clergyman  of  the 
Church  of  England  at  this  place.  Archdeacon  Mac- 
Donald  was  a  remarkable  man.  Married  to  a  native 
wife,  he  translated  the  whole  Bible  and  the  Book  of 
Common  Prayer  ihto  the  native  tongue,  and  his  trans- 
lations are  in  general  use  on  the  upper  river  to  this  day. 


ARCHDEACON  MACDONALD  23 

He  reduced  the  language  to  writing,  extracted  its  gram- 
mar, taught  the  Indians  to  read  and  write  their  own 
tongue,  and  dignified  it  by  the  gift  of  the  great  Htera- 
ture  of  the  sacred  books.  The  language  is,  of  course, 
a  dying  one — English  is  slowly  superseding  it — but  it 
seems  safe  to  say  that  for  a  generation  or  two  yet  to 
come  it  will  be  the  basis  of  the  common  speech  of  the 
people  and  the  language  of  worship.  It  is  chiefly  in 
matters  of  trading  and  handicrafts  that  English  is  taking 
its  place,  though  here  as  elsewhere  it  stands  to  the  dis- 
credit of  the  civilised  race  that  blackguard  English  is 
the  first  English  that  is  learned. 

There  seems  ground  to  question  whether  the  sub- 
stitution of  a  smattering  of  broken  Enghsh  for  the  flex- 
ibility and  picturesque  expressiveness  of  an  indigenous 
tongue,  thoroughly  understood,  carries  with  it  any  great 
intellectual  gain,  though  to  suggest  such  a  doubt  is 
treason  to  some  minds.  The  time  threatens  when  all 
the  world  will  speak  two  or  three  great  languages,  when 
all  little  tongues  will  be  extinct  and  all  little  peoples 
swallowed  up,  when  all  costume  will  be  reduced  to  a 
dead  level  of  blue  jeans  and  shoddy  and  all  strange  cus- 
toms abolished.  The  world  will  be  a  much  less  inter- 
esting world  then;  the  spice  and  savour  of  the  ends  of 
the  earth  will  be  gone.  Nor  does  it  always  appear  un- 
questionable that  the  world  will  be  the  better  or  the 
happier.  The  advance  of  civilisation  would  be  a  great 
thing  to  work  for  if  we  were  quite  sure  what  we  meant 
by  it  and  what  its  goal  is.  To  the  ordinary  government 
school-teacher  in  Alaska,  with  some  notable  exceptions, 


24    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

it  seems  to  mean  chiefly  teaching  the  Indians  to  call 
themselves  Mr.  and  Mrs.  and  teaching  the  women  to 
wear  milhnery,  with  a  contemptuous  attitude  toward 
the  native  language  and  all  native  customs.  The  less 
intelligent  grade  of  missionary  sometimes  falls  into  the 
same  easy  rut.  So  letters  pass  through  the  post-ofiices 
addressed:  "Mr.  Pretty  Henry,"  "Mrs.  Monkey  Bill," 
"Miss  Sally  Shortandirty";  so,  occasionally,  the  gro- 
tesque spectacle  may  present  itself,  to  the  passengers  on 
a  steamer,  of  a  native  woman  in  a  "Merry  Widow"  hat 
and  a  blood-stained  parkee  gutting  salmon  on  the  river 
bank. 

The  nobler  ideal,  as  it  seems  to  some  of  us,  is  to 
labour  for  God-fearing,  self-respecting  Indians  rather 
than  imitation  white  men  and  white  women.  An  In- 
dian who  is  honest,  healthy  and  kindly,  skilled  in  hunting 
and  trapping,  versed  in  his  native  Bible  and  liturgy, 
even  though  he  be  entirely  ignorant  of  English  and  have 
acquired  no  taste  for  canned  fruit  and  know  not  when 
Columbus  discovered  America,  may  be  very  much  of  a 
man  in  that  station  of  life  in  which  it  has  pleased  God 
to  call  him. 

Christmas  and  the  Fourth  of  July  are  the  Indian's 
great  holidays,  the  one  just  after  the  best  moose  hunting 
and  the  other  just  before  the  salmon  run.  It  may  be  sup- 
posed that  there  were  always  great  feasts  at  the  winter 
and  summer  solstices,  though  now  he  is  sufficiently  de- 
vout at  the  one  and  patriotic  at  the  other.  At  these 
seasons,  and  for  weeks  before  and  after.  Fort  Yukon 
gathers  a  large  number  of  Indians.     It   is  the  native 


JIMMY  25 

metropolis  of  the  country  within  a  radius  of  a  hun- 
dred miles,  and  what  may  be  termed  its  permanent  pop- 
ulation of  one  hundred  and  fifty  is  doubled  and  some- 
times trebled  by  contingents  from  the  Chandalar,  the 
Porcupine,  and  the  Black  Rivers,  from  that  long  river 
called  Birch  Creek,  and  all  the  intervening  country. 
Many  families  of  the  "uncivilised,"  self-respecting  kind, 
to  which  reference  has  been  made,  come  in  from  out- 
lying points,  and  the  contrast  between  them  and  their 
more  sophisticated  kinfolk  of  the  town  is  all  in  their 
favour. 

Such  a  gathering  had  already  taken  place  in  prepara- 
tion for  the  Christmas  holidays  when  we  reached  Fort 
Yukon  on  the  15th  of  December.  It  would  have  been 
pleasant  to  spend  Christmas  with  them,  but  we  were  due 
two  hundred  and  fifty  miles  away,  at  Bettles,  for  that 
feast,  if  by  any  means  we  could  get  there.  So  we  lin- 
gered but  the  two  days  necessary  to  equip  ourselves. 
Jimmy  had  torn  our  bedding  to  pieces  on  the  night 
of  the  mishap;  it  was  lashed  on  the  outside  of  the  load, 
and  he  had  scratched  and  clawed  it  to  make  a  nest  for 
himself  until  fur  from  the  robe  and  feathers  from  the 
quilts  were  all  over  the  trail.  The  other  dogs,  not  so 
warmly  coated  as  he,  had  been  content  to  sleep  in  the 
snow.  Jimmy's  character  was  gradually  revealing  itself. 
A  well-bred  trail  dog  will  not  commit  the  canine  sacri- 
lege of  invading  the  sled.  That  is  a  "Siwash"  dog*s 
trick.  So  there  was  fresh  bedding  to  manufacture,  as 
well  as  supplies  for  two  hundrfed  miles  to  get  together. 

A  mail  once  a  month  went  at  that  time  from  Fort 


26    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

Yukon  to  the  Koyukuk,  and  there  was  little  other  travel. 
The  course  lay  fifty  or  sixty  miles  across  country  to  the 
Chandalar  River,  about  one  hundred  miles  up  that  stream, 
and  then  across  a  divide  to  the  South  Fork  of  the  Koyu- 
kuk, and  across  another  to  the  Middle  Fork,  on  which 
Coldfoot  is  situated.  It  is  not  possible  to  procure  any 
supplies,  save  sometimes  a  little  fish  for  dog  food  and 
that  not  certainly,  between  Fort  Yukon  and  Coldfoot, 
so  that  provision  for  the  whole  journey  must  be  taken. 
A  new  Indian  guide  had  been  engaged  as  far  as  Cold- 
foot, and  we  set  out — three  men,  two  toboggans,  and 
seven  dogs;  four  on  the  larger  vehicle  and  three  on  the 
smaller,  one  of  the  dogs  brought  by  our  guide.  Three 
miles  from  Fort  Yukon  we  crossed  the  Porcupine  River 
and  then  plunged  into  the  wilderness  of  lake  and  swamp 
and  forest  that  stretches  north  of  the  Yukon.  A  portage 
trail,  as  such  a  track  across  country  is  called  to  distin- 
guish it  from  a  river  trail,  has  the  advantage  of  such  pro- 
tection from  storm  as  its  timbered  stretches  afford.  For 
miles  and  miles  the  route  passes  through  scrub  spruce 
that  has  been  burned  over,  with  no  prospect  but  a  maze 
of  charred  poles  against  the  snow,  some  upright,  others 
at  every  angle  of  inclination.  Then  comes  a  lake,  with 
difficulty  in  finding  the  trail  on  its  wind-swept  surface 
and  sometimes  much  casting  about  to  discover  where  it 
leaves  the  lake  again,  and  then  more  small  burned  tim- 
ber. Wherever  the  route  is  through  woods,  living  or 
dead,  it  is  blazed;  when  it  strikes  the  open,  one  is  often 
at  a  loss.  After  three  or  four  days  of  such  travel,  some- 
times reaching   an   old   cabin   for   the  night,  sometimes 


I 


THE  CHANDALAR  27 

pitching  the  tent,  one  is  rejoiced  at  the  sight  of  dis- 
tant mountains  and  at  the  intimation  they  bring  that 
the  inexpressible  dreariness  of  the  Yukon  Flats  is  nearly- 
past;  and  presently  the  trail  opens  suddenly  upon  the 
broad  Chandalar. 

The  Hudson  Bay  voyageurs  are  responsible  for  many 
names  in  this  part  of  Alaska,  and  Chandalar  is  a  cor- 
ruption of  their  "Gens  de  large."  The  various  native 
tribes  received  appellations  indicating  habitats.  A  tribe 
that  differed  from  most  northern  Indians,  in  having  no 
permanent  villages  and  in  living  altogether  in  encamp- 
ments, was  named  "Gens  de  large,"  and  the  river  which 
they  frequented  took  their  name. 

It  is  one  of  the  second-rate  tributaries  of  the  Yukon, 
and  in  general  its  waters  are  swift  and  shallow,  not 
navigable  for  light-draught  steamboats  for  more  than  one 
hundred  and  fifty  miles,  save  at  flood,  and  not  easily 
navigable  at  all.  It  is  these  swift  shallow  streams  that 
are  so  formidable  in  winter  on  account  of  overflow  water, 
and  the  Chandalar  is  one  of  the  most  dreaded. 

Ten  miles  along  the  river's  surface  brought  us  to 
the  Chandalar  native  village,  a  settlement  of  half  a  dozen 
cabins  and  twenty-five  or  thirty  souls.  The  people  came 
out  to  meet  us,  and  said  they  were  just  about  to  bury 
a  baby,  and  asked  me  to  conduct  the  funeral.  Because 
we  had  not  done  a  day's  march  and  were  under  com- 
pulsion to  push  on  at  our  best  speed,  I  did  not  unlash 
the  sled  but  went  just  as  I  was  up  the  hill  with  the 
sorrowful  procession  to  the  little  graveyard.  On  the 
way  down  I  asked  as  best  I  could  of  what  sickness  the 


28    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

baby  had  died,  and  I  felt  some  uneasiness  when  the 
throat  was  pointed  to  as  the  seat  of  disease.  When, 
presently,  I  was  informed  that  two  others  were  sick, 
and  of  the  same  complaint,  my  uneasiness  became  alarm. 
I  went  at  once  to  see  them,  and  the  angry  swollen  throats 
patched  with  white  membrane  which  I  discovered  left 
no  room  for  doubt  that  we  were  in  the  presence  of  an- 
other outbreak  of  diphtheria.  That  disease  had  scourged 
the  Yukon  in  the  two  preceding  years.  Twenty-three 
children  died  at  Fort  Yukon  in  the  summer  of  1904, 
half  a  dozen  at  Circle  in  the  following  winter,  though 
that  outbreak  was  grappled  with  from  the  first;  and  all 
along  the  river  the  loss  of  life  was  terrible. 

There  was  no  question  that  we  must  give  up  all 
hope  of  reaching  Bettles  for  Christmas  and  stay  and  do 
what  we  could  for  these  people.  So  we  made  camp  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  village,  and  I  went  to  work  swab- 
bing out  the  throats  with  carbolic  acid  and  preparing 
liquid  food  from  our  grub  box.  There  was  nothing  to 
eat  in  the  village  but  dried  fish  and  a  little  dried  moose, 
and  these  throats  like  red-hot  iron  could  hardly  swal- 
low liquids.  The  two  patients  were  a  boy  of  sixteen 
and  a  grown  woman.  It  was  evident  that  unless  we 
could  isolate  them  the  disease  would  probably  pass 
through  the  whole  village,  and,  indeed,  others  might  have 
been  infected  already.  It  was  likely  that  we  were  in 
for  a  siege  of  it,  and  our  supply  of  condensed  milk  and 
extract  of  beef  would  soon  be  exhausted.  Moreover,  at 
Fort  Yukon  was  the  trained  nurse  who  had  coped  with 
the  epidemic  there  and  at  Circle,  while  we  had  virtually 


DIPHTHERIA  29 

no  experience  with  the  disease  at  all.  It  was  resolved 
to  send  back  to  Fort  Yukon  for  supplies  and  for  the 
nurse. 

The  next  morning  Mr.  Knapp  and  the  native  boy 
took  the  dogs  and  the  sled  and  started  back.  With  no 
load  save  a  little  grub  and  bedding,  they  could  make  the 
journey  in  two  days,  a  day  must  be  allowed  for  prepara- 
tions, and,  with  the  aid  of  another  dog  team,  two  days 
more  would  bring  them  back.  Five  days  was  the  least 
they  could  be  gone.  It  was  asking  a  great  deal  of  this 
lady  to  abandon  her  Christmas  festival,  preparations 
for  which  had  long  been  making,  and  to  come  sixty- 
five  miles  through  the  frozen  wilderness  in  a  toboggan; 
but  I  felt  sure  she  would  drop  everything  and  come. 

For  those  five  days  I  was  busied  in  close  attention 
to  the  patients  and  in  strenuous  though  not  altogether 
availing  efforts  to  maintain  a  quarantine  of  the  cabin 
in  which  they  lay.  There  was  little  more  that  I  could 
do  than  swab  out  the  throats  and  administer  food  every 
two  hours.  As  the  disease  advanced  it  was  increas- 
ingly painful  to  swallow  and  exceedingly  difficult  to  in- 
duce the  sufferers  to  make  the  attempt  or  to  open  their 
mouths  for  the  swabbing.  After  two  or  three  days  the 
woman  seemed  to  have  passed  the  crisis  of  the  disease 
and  to  be  mending,  but  the  boy,  I  thought,  grew  worse. 
One  becomes  attached  to  those  to  whom  one  ministers, 
and  this  poor,  speechless  boy,  with  his  terrible  throat  and 
the  agony  in  his  big  black  eyes,  appealed  to  me  very 
strongly  indeed.  It  was  torture  to  move  his  head  or  to 
open  his  mouth,  and  I  had  to  torture  him  continually. 


30    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

Every  night  I  gathered  the  people  for  Divine  service. 
Here  was  a  Httle  community  far  off  in  the  wilds  that 
had  carefully  conserved  and  handed  on  to  their  children 
the  teaching  they  had  received  no  less  than  thirty  years 
before.  The  native  Bibles  and  prayer-books  and  hym- 
nals were  brought  out,  bearing  dates  of  publication  in 
the  seventies;  one  of  their  number  acted  as  leader,  and 
what  he  read  was  painfully  followed  in  the  well-thumbed 
books.  They  lifted  their  voices  in  a  weird  transforma- 
tion of  familiar  tunes,  with  quavers  and  glides  that  had 
crept  in  through  long,  uncorrected  use,  and  amongst  the 
prayers  said  was  one  for  "Our  Sovereign  lady  Queen 
Victoria,  and  Albert  Edward,  Prince  of  Wales."  I  tried 
to  explain  that  Queen  Victoria  was  dead,  that  they 
were  not  living  under  British  rule,  and  I  took  a  pencil 
and  struck  out  the  prayers  for  the  royal  family  from 
the  books.  But  there  was  doubt  in  their  minds  and  a 
reluctance  to  alter  in  any  particular  the  liturgy  that 
had  been  taught  them,  and  it  is  quite  likely  that  inter- 
cessions for  a  defunct  sovereign  of  another  land  still 
arise  from  the  Chandalar  village.  One  cannot  but  feel 
a  deep  admiration  for  the  pioneer  missionaries  of  this 
region — Bishop  Bompas,  Archdeacon  MacDonald,  and 
the  others — whose  teaching  was  so  thorough  and  so  last- 
ing, and  who  lived  and  laboured  here  long  before  any 
gold  seeker  had  thought  of  Alaska,  when  the  country 
was  an  Indian  country  exclusively,  with  none  of  the 
comforts  and  conveniences  that  can  now  be  enjoyed. 
It  was  to  a  remote  cabin  on  the  East  Fork  of  this  river 
that  Archdeacon  MacDonald  retired  for  a  year  to  make 


THE  SHORTEST  DAY  31 

part  of  his  translation  of  the  Bible,  according  to  the 
Indian  account. 

At  noon  on  the  21st  of  December,  the  shortest  day, 
there  is  a  note  in  my  diary  that  I  saw  the  sun's  disk 
shining  through  the  trees.  Although  fully  half  a  degree 
of  latitude  north  of  the  Arctic  Circle,  the  refraction  is 
sufficient  to  lift  his  whole  sphere  above  the  horizon. 
One  speculates  how  much  farther  north  it  would  be  pos- 
sible to  see  any  part  of  the  sun  at  noon  on  the  shortest 
day;  but  north  of  here,  throughout  Alaska,  is  broken 
and  mountainous  country.  We  were  on  the  northern 
edge  of  the  great  flat  of  the  interior. 

The  fifth  day  at  the  village  was  Christmas  Eve.  My 
boy  was  in  a  critical  condition,  very  low  and  weak,  with 
a  temperature  that  stayed  around  101°  and  102°.  As 
night  approached  I  watched  with  the  greatest  anxiety 
for  the  party  from  Fort  Yukon,  and,  just  as  the  last 
lingering  glow  of  the  long  twilight  was  fading  from  the 
south,  there  was  a  distant  tinkle  of  bells  on  the  trail, 
and  faintly  once  and  again  a  man's  voice  was  raised  in 
command  and  I  knew  that  relief  was  at  hand. 

The  nurse  had  dropped  everything  and  had  come, 
as  I  felt  sure  she  would.  Gathering  medicines  and  sup- 
plies and  hiring  a  native  dog  team  and  driver,  she  had 
left  immediately,  and  the  round  trip  had  been  made  in 
the  shortest  time  it  was  possible  to  make  it.  It  was  a 
tremendous  relief  to  see  her  step  out  of  the  rugs  and 
robes  of  the  toboggan  and  take  charge  of  the  situation 
in  her  quiet,  competent  way.  A  small,  outlying  cabin 
was  selected  for  a  hospital,  the  family  that  occupied  it 


32    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

bundled  out  into  a  tent,  and  the  two  sick  persons  care- 
fully moved  into  it,  with  whom  and  the  mother  of  the 
sick  boy  the  nurse  took  up  her  abode.  Then  there  was 
the  Christmas-tree  in  the  chiefs  cabin,  with  little  gifts 
for  the  children  sent  out  from  the  mission  at  Fort  Yukon 
some  time  before,  and  a  dance  afterward,  for  Christmas 
festivities  must  go  on,  whatever  happens,  at  a  native 
village.  I  took  James's  pocket-knife  to  him  after  the 
celebration  was  over,  and  I  think  he  really  tried  to 
smile  as  he  thanked  me  with  his  eyes. 

The  next  day  after  the  services,  although  it  was 
Christmas  Day,  we  set  to  work  on  the  disinfecting  of 
the  large  cabin  in  which  the  sick  had  lain.  Stringing 
bedclothes  and  wearing  apparel  on  lines  from  wall  to 
wall,  and  stuffing  up  every  crack  and  cranny  with  cot- 
ton, we  burned  quantities  of  sulphur,  that  the  nurse  had 
brought  with  her,  all  day  long. 

A  recent  article  in  a  stray  number  of  a  professional 
journal  picked  up  in  the  office  of  a  medical  missionary, 
devoted  column  after  column  to  the  uselessness  of  all 
known  methods  of  disinfection.  Sulphur,  formaldehyde, 
carbolic  acid,  permanganate  of  potash,  chloride  of  lime, 
bichloride  of  mercury — the  author  knew  not  which  of 
these  "fetiches"  to  be  most  sarcastic  about.  It  may 
be  that  the  net  result  of  our  copious  fumigation  was 
but  the  bleaching  of  the  coloured  garments  hung  up, 
but  at  least  it  did  no  harm.  One  sometimes  wishes  that 
these  scientists  who  sit  up  so  high  in  the  seat  of  the 
scornful  would  condescend  to  a  little  plain  instruction. 

The  anti-diphtheritic  serum  is  now  kept  in  readiness 


THE   MISSIONARY  NURSE  33 

at  all  our  missions  in  Alaska,  and  the  disease  seems  to 
have  ceased  its  depredations;  but  it  has  taken  terrible 
toll  of  the  native  people. 

We  wished  to  stay  with  the  nurse  until  the  sickness 
should  be  done,  but  she  would  not  hear  of  it,  and  in- 
sisted upon  the  resumption  of  our  journey.  It  did  not 
seem  right  to  go  off  and  leave  this  lonely  woman,  sixty- 
five  miles  from  the  nearest  white  person,  to  cope  with 
an  outbreak  of  disease  that  might  not  yet  have  spent 
itself,  although  there  had  been  no  new  case  for  a  week. 
"YouVe  done  your  work  here,  now  leave  me  to  do 
mine.  You'll  not  get  to  Point  Hope  this  winter  if  you 
stay  much  longer." 

"Aren't  you  afraid  to  stay  all  by  yourself.?"  I  asked, 
somewhat  fatuously. 

"Afraid.?  Afraid  of  what?  You  surely  don't  mean 
afraid  of  the  natives.?" 

I  did  not  know  what  I  meant;  it  seemed  not  unnat- 
ural that  a  woman  with  such  prospect  before  her  should 
be  a  little  timid,  but  she  was  resolute  that  we  go,  and  we 
went. 

Not  until  the  next  summer  did  I  learn  the  upshot — 
both  patients  recovered  and  there  was  no  other  case. 
Six  years  later,  when  these  words  are  written,  I  have 
just  baptized  a  son  of  the  boy  who  lay  so  ill,  who  would 
have  perished,  I  think,  had  we  not  reached  the  Chan- 
dalar  village  just  in  time. 


CHAPTER  II 

CHANDALAR  VILLAGE  TO  BETTLES,  COLDFOOT, 
AND  THE  KOYUKUK 

At  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  the  27th  of  De- 
cember, hours  before  any  kind  of  dayHght,  while  the 
faint  "pit-pat"  of  all-night  dancing  still  sounded  from 
the  chief's  cabin,  we  dropped  down  the  steep  bank  to 
the  river  surface  and  resumed  our  journey.  Ahead  was 
a  man  with  a  candle  in  a  tin  can,  peering  for  the  faint 
indications  of  the  trail  on  the  ice;  the  other  two  were 
at  the  handle-bars  of  the  toboggans.  It  is  strange  that 
in  this  day  of  invention  and  improvement  in  artificial 
illumination,  a  candle  in  a  tin  can  is  still  the  most  de- 
pendable light  for  the  trail.  A  coal-oil  lamp  requires 
a  glass  which  is  easily  broken,  and  the  ordinary  coal- 
oil  that  comes  to  Alaska  freezes  at  about  40°  below. 
In  very  cold  weather  a  coal-oil  lantern  full  of  oil  will 
go  out  completely  from  the  freezing  of  its  supply.  All 
the  various  acetylene  lamps  are  useless  because  water 
is  required  to  generate  the  gas,  and  water  may  not  be 
had  without  stopping  and  building  a  fire  and  melting 
ice  or  snow.  The  electric  flash-lamp,  useful  enough 
round  camp,  goes  out  of  operation  altogether  on  the 
trail,  because  the  "dry"  cell  that  supplies  its  current 

34 


THE  CHANDALAR  GAP  35 

is  not  a  dry  cell  at  all,  but  a  moist  cell,  and  when  its 
moisture  freezes  is  dead  until  it  thaws  out  again.  No 
extremity  of  cold  will  stop  a  candle  from  burning,  and 
if  it  be  properly  sheltered  by  the  tin  can  it  will  stand 
a  great  deal  of  wind.  The  "folding  pocket  lantern," 
which  is  nothing  but  a  convenient  tin  can  with  mica 
sides,  is  the  best  equipment  for  travel,  but  an  empty 
butter  can  or  lard  can  is  sometimes  easier  to  come  by. 

The  Chandalar  is  wide-spread  in  these  parts,  with 
several  channels,  and  the  trail  was  hard  to  follow.  One 
track  we  pursued  led  us  up  a  bank  and  along  a  portage 
and  presently  stopped  at  a  marten  trap;  and  we  had  to 
cut  across  to  the  river  and  cast  about  hither  and  thither 
on  its  broad  surface  to  find  the  mail  trail. 

All  the  rivers  that  are  confluent  with  the  Yukon  in 
the  Flats  enter  that  dreary  region  through  gaps  in  the 
mountains  that  bound  the  broad  plain.  These  gaps  are 
noted  for  wind,  and  the  Chandalar  Gap,  which  had 
loomed  before  us  since  daybreak,  is  deservedly  in  especial 
bad  repute.  The  most  hateful  thing  in  the  Arctic  regions 
is  the  wind.  Cold  one  may  protect  one's  self  against, 
but  there  is  no  adequate  protection  against  wind.  The 
parkee  without  opening  front  or  back,  that  pulls  on 
over  the  head,  is  primarily  a  windbreak,  and  when  a 
scarf  is  wrapped  around  mouth  and  nose,  and  the  fur- 
edged  hood  of  the  parkee  is  pulled  forward  over  cap 
and  scarf,  the  traveller  who  must  face  the  wind  has  done 
all  he  can  to  protect  himself  from  it. 

Unfortunately,  in  the  confusion  of  striking  the  tent 
and  packing  in  the  dark,  my  scarf  had  been  rolled  up 


36    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

in  the  bedding,  and,  since  the  wind  was  not  bad  until 
we  approached  the  Gap  in  the  evening,  I  had  not  troubled 
about  it.  Now,  as  we  drew  nearer  and  nearer,  the  wind 
rose  constantly.  The  thermometer  was  at  38°  below 
zero,  and  wind  at  that  temperature  cuts  like  a  knife. 
But  to  get  my  scarf  meant  stopping  the  whole  proces- 
sion and  unlashing  and  unloading  the  sled,  and  the  man 
who  unlashed  in  that  wind  would  almost  certainly  freeze 
his  fingers.  So  I  gave  up  the  thought  of  it,  turned 
my  back  to  the  wind  while  I  tied  my  pocket  handker- 
chief round  mouth  and  nose,  drew  the  strings  of  my 
parkee  hood  close,  and  then  faced  it  again  to  worry 
through  as  best  I  could.  The  ice  is  always  swept  clear 
of  snow  in  the  Gap.  The  river  narrows  within  its  jaws, 
the  ragged  rocks  rise  up  to  the  bluffs  on  either  hand, 
and  the  blue-streaked  ice  stretches  between.  We  all 
suffered  a  good  deal.  Against  that  cruel  wind  it  was 
impossible  to  keep  warm.  The  hands,  though  enclosed 
in  woollen  gloves,  and  they  in  blanket-lined  moose-hide 
mitts,  grew  numb;  the  toes,  within  their  protection  of 
caribou  sock  with  the  hair  on,  strips  of  blanket  wrapping, 
and  mukluks  stuffed  with  hay,  tingled  with  warning  of 
frost-bite;  the  whole  body  was  chilled.  We  all  froze 
our  faces,  I  think,  for  the  part  of  the  face  around  and 
between  the  eyes  cannot  be  covered.  I  froze  my  cheeks, 
my  nose,  and  my  Adam's  apple,  the  last  a  most  incon- 
venient thing  to  freeze. 

The  cabin  was  just  the  other  side  of  the  Gap,  and  it 
was  well  that  it  was  no  farther,  for  we  were  weary  with 
our  thirty-mile  run  and  dangerously  cold  with  the  expo- 


A  COLD  LODGING  37 

sure  of  the  last  hour.  It  was  rather  a  large  cabin  as 
trail  cabins  go,  with  a  rickety  sheet-iron  stove  in  the 
middle,  burned  full  of  holes,  and  it  was  hours  before 
the  fire  began  to  make  any  impression  on  the  obstinate, 
sullen  cold  of  that  hut.  When  we  went  to  bed  the 
frost  still  stood  thick  and  heavy  on  the  walls  all  over 
the  room.  A  log  building,  properly  constructed,  is  a 
warm  building,  but  slowness  in  parting  with  heat  means 
slowness  in  receiving  heat,  and  a  log  cabin  that  has  been 
unoccupied  for  a  long  time  in  very  cold  weather  is  hard 
to  heat  in  one  evening. 

Wh'en  we  started  next  morning  the  thermometer 
stood  at  45°  below  zero,  but  we  were  out  of  the  wind 
region  and  did  not  mind  the  cold.  It  is  curious  that  a 
few  miles  on  either  side  of  that  Gap  the  air  will  be  still, 
while  in  the  Gap  itself  a  gale  is  blowing.  Seven  times 
I  have  passed  through  that  Gap  and  only  once  without 
wind.  The  great  Flats  were  now  behind  us,  we  had 
passed  into  the  mountains,  and  for  the  remainder  of 
our  long  journey  we  should  scarce  ever  be  out  of  sight 
of  mountains  again.  Up  the  river,  with  its  constant 
trouble  of  overflow,  going  around  the  open  water  when- 
ever we  could,  plunging  through  it  in  our  mukluks 
when  it  could  not  be  avoided — with  the  care  of  the 
dogs'  feet  that  the  cold  weather  rendered  more  than 
ever  necessary  when  they  got  wet,  and  the  added  nui- 
sance of  throwing  the  toboggans  on  their  sides  and 
beating  the  ice  from  them  with  the  flat  of  the  axe  wher- 
ever water  had  been  passed  through — for  two  days  we 
followed  its  windings,  the  thermometer  between  — 45° 


38    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

and  — 50°,  the  mountains  rising  higher  and  the  scenery- 
growing  more  picturesque  as  we  advanced.  At  the  end 
of  the  second  day  from  the  Gap  we  were  at  the  mouth 
of  the  West  Fork  of  the  Chandalar,  and  after  passing  up 
it  for  fifteen  or  sixteen  miles  we  left  that  watercourse 
to  cross  the  mountains  to  the  South  Fork  of  the  Koyu- 
kuk  River. 

Then  began  hard  labour  again.  A  toboggan  is  not 
a  good  vehicle  for  crossing  summits.  Its  bottom  is  per- 
fectly flat  and  smooth,  polished  like  glass  by  the  fric- 
tion of  the  snow.  If  the  trail  be  at  all  "sidling"  (and 
mountain  trails  are  almost  always  "sidling"),  the  tobog- 
gan swings  off  on  the  side  of  the  incHnation  and  must 
be  kept  on  the  trail  by  main  force.  The  runners  of  a 
sled  will  grip  the  surface,  if  there  be  any  inequalities 
at  all,  but  a  toboggan  swings  now  this  way  and  now 
that,  like  a  great  pendulum,  dragging  the  near  dogs  with 
it.  Again  and  again  we  had  to  hitch  both  teams  to  one 
toboggan  to  get  up  a  sidling  pitch  while  all  hands  kept 
the  vehicle  on  the  trail,  and  our  progress  was  painful 
and  slow.  In  soft  snow  on  a  level  surface  like  the  river 
bed  or  through  the  Flat  country,  generally,  the  toboggan 
is  much  the  more  convenient  vehicle,  for  it  rides  over 
the  snow  instead  of  ploughing  through  it,  but  on  hard 
snow  anywhere  or  on  grades  the  toboggan  is  a  nuisance. 
Thus  wallowing  through  the  deep  snow  at  the  side  of 
the  toboggans  to  hold  them  in  place  we  sweated  and 
slaved  our  way  mile  after  mile  up  the  gradual  ascent 
until  we  reached  the  spot,  just  under  a  shoulder  of  the 
summit,  where  there  was  dry  spruce  and  green  spruce 


JOHN   MUIR  39 

for  camping,  the  dry  for  fire  and  the  green  for  couch, 
and  there  we  hahed  for  the  night. 

Next  morning  we  crossed  the  low  pass  and  dropped 
down  easily  into  the  wide  valley  of  the  Koyukuk  South 
Fork,  with  a  fine  prospect  of  mountains  everywhere  as 
far  as  the  eye  could  see.  I  had  stood  and  gazed  upon 
those  same  mountains  on  my  journey  of  the  previous 
winter,  my  first  winter  in  Alaska,  and  had  seen  a  most 
remarkable  sight.  As  we  began  the  descent  and  a  turn 
of  the  trail  gave  a  new  panorama  of  peaks  I  did  not  at 
first  realise  the  nature  of  the  peculiar  phenomenon  I  was 
gazing  at.  Each  peak  had  a  fine,  filmy,  fan-shaped  cloud 
stretching  straight  out  from  it  into  the  sky,  waving  and 
shimmering  as  it  stretched.  The  sun  was  not  above  the 
horizon,  but  his  rays  caught  these  sheer,  lawn-like  stream- 
ers and  played  upon  them  with  a  most  delicate  opalescent 
radiance.  Then  all  at  once  came  to  my  mind  the  recol- 
lection of  a  description  in  John  Muir's  Mountains  of  Cal- 
ifornia (surely  the  finest  mountain  book  ever  written)  of 
the  snow  banners  of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  and  I  knew  that 
I  was  looking  at  a  similar  spectacle.  It  meant  that  a 
storm  was  raging  on  high,  although  so  far  we  were  shel- 
tered from  it.  It  meant  that  the  dry,  sand-like  snow  of 
the  mountain  flanks  was  driven  up  those  flanks  so  fiercely 
before  the  wind  that  it  was  carried  clean  over  them  and 
beyond  them  out  into  the  sky,  and  still  had  such  pressure 
behind  it  that  it  continued  its  course  and  spread  out 
horizontally,  thinning  and  spreading  for  maybe  a  mile 
before  it  lost  all  coherence  and  visibility.  As  far  as  I 
could  see  mountain  peaks  I  could  see  the  snow  banners. 


40    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

all  pointing  one  way,  all  waving,  all  luminous  and  shim- 
mering in  the  sun-rays.  It  was  a  very  noble  sight,  and 
I  gazed  a  long  while  entranced,  not  knowing  how  omi- 
nous it  was.  When  we  reached  the  valley  and  left  the 
shelter  of  the  gulch  we  struck  the  full  force  of  that  fear- 
ful gale,  and  for  two  days  and  nights  of  incessant  bliz- 
zard we  lay  in  a  hole  dug  out  of  a  sand-bank  (for  we  had 
no  tent  that  year),  the  trail  lost,  the  grub  box  nearly 
empty,  and  no  fire  possible  to  cook  anything  with  had 
the  grub  box  been  full. 

The  valley  before  us — to  resume  the  narrative — is  a 
high,  wind-swept  region  of  niggerhead  and  swamp,  the 
catch-basin  of  the  South  Fork  of  the  Koyukuk  River. 
The  trail  descends  one  of  its  southern  draws,  follows  up 
the  main  valley  awhile,  crosses  it,  and  leaves  by  one  of 
its  northern  draws  to  pass  over  the  mountains  that  sep- 
arate its  drainage  from  the  main  fork  of  the  Koyukuk. 
The  cold  had  given  place  to  wind,  and  though  the  gale 
did  not  approach  the  fierceness  of  last  year's  storm,  it 
gave  great  trouble  in  following  the  track.  These  high 
headwater  basins  are  always  windy;  the  timber  is  scrubby 
spruce  with  many  open  places,  and  in  such  open  places 
the  trail  is  soon  obliterated  altogether. 

When  the  light  fails  this  casting  about  for  blazes 
whenever  a  clump  of  spruce  is  reached  becomes  increas- 
ingly slow  and  difficult  and  at  last  becomes  hopeless. 
The  general  direction  determined,  it  might  be  thought 
that  the  traveller  could  ignore  the  tracks  of  previous 
passage  and  strike  out  for  himself,  but  he  knows  that 
the  trail,  however  rough,  is  at  least  practicable,  whereas 


CAMP  MAKING  41 

an  independent  course  may  soon  lead  to  steep  gullies  or 
cut  banks,  or  may  entangle  him  in  some  thicket  that  he 
must  resort  to  the  axe  to  pass  through.  Moreover,  even 
two  or  three  passages  through  the  snow  in  the  winter 
will  give  some  bottom  to  a  trail;  a  bottom  that,  when 
the  wind-swept  areas  are  passed  and  the  snow-shoes  are 
resumed,  both  he  and  his  dogs  will  be  thankful  for. 

So  we.  made  a  camp  as  it  darkened  to  night,  not  far 
from  the  spot  where  I  had  "siwashed"  with  an  Indian 
companion  the  previous  winter,  the  wind  blowing  half 
a  gale  at  20°  below  zero. 

Making  camp  under  such  circumstances  is  always 
a  very  disagreeable  proceeding.  It  takes  time  and  care 
to  make  a  comfortable  camp,  and  time  and  care  in  the 
wind  and  the  cold  involve  suffering.  Two  suitable  trees 
must  be  selected  between  which  the  tent  is  to  be  sus- 
pended by  the  ridge-rope,  and  the  snow  must  all  be 
scraped  away  by  the  snow-shoes,  or,  if  it  be  too  deep, 
beaten  down.  Then  while  one  man  unlashes  and  un- 
packs the  sleds,  another  cuts  green  spruce  and  lays  it 
all  over  the  tent  space,  thicker  and  finer  where  the  bed 
is  to  be.  Then  up  goes  the  tent,  its  corner  ropes  and 
its  side  strings  made  fast  to  boughs,  if  there  be  such,  or 
to  stakes,  or  to  logs  laid  parallel  to  the  sides.  Then  the 
stovepipe  is  jointed  and  the  stove  set  up  on  the  edge 
of  green  billets  properly  shaped.  Meanwhile  the  axe- 
man, the  green  boughs  cut,  has  been  felling  and  split- 
ting a  dry  tree  for  stove  wood,  and  the  whole  proceed- 
ings are  rushed  and  hastened  towards  getting  a  fire  in 
that  stove.     Sometimes  it  is  a  question  whether  we  shall 


42    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

get  a  fire  before  we  freeze  our  fingers  or  freeze  our  fin- 
gers before  we  get  a  fire.  The  fire  once  going,  we  are 
safe,  for  however  much  more  work  there  is  in  the  open, 
and  there  is  always  a  good  deal  more,  one  can  go  to  the 
tent  to  get  warm.  Enough  stove  wood  must  be  cut, 
not  only  for  night  and  morning,  but  for  cooking  the 
dog  feed.  The  dog  pot,  filled  with  snow,  into  which 
the  fish  are  cut  up,  is  put  upon  the  outdoor  fire  as  soon 
as  man-supper  begins  cooking  in  the  tent.  When  it 
boils,  the  rice  and  tallow  must  be  added,  and  when  the 
rice  has  boiled  twenty  minutes  the  whole  is  set  aside 
to  cool.  Meanwhile  the  two  aluminum  pots  full  of 
snow,  replenished  from  time  to  time  as  it  melts,  are  put 
upon  the  stove  in  the  tent  as  the  necessary  preliminary 
to  cooking.  Sometimes  ice,  and  more  rarely  water,  may 
be  had,  and  then  supper  is  hastened.  If  we  are  camped 
on  the  river  bank  sometimes  a  steel-pointed  rifle-bullet 
fired  straight  down  into  the  ice  will  penetrate  to  the 
water  below  and  allow  a  little  jet  to  bubble  up.  Melt- 
ing snow  is  a  tedious  business  at  best;  but,  since  three 
times  out  of  four  when  camping  it  must  be  done,  the 
aluminum  pots  are  a  treasure.  There  is  still  work 
for  every  one  as  well  as  the  cook.  Snow  must  be 
banked  all  round  the  tent  to  keep  out  the  wind. 
Little  heaps  of  spruce  boughs  must  be  cut  for  the 
dogs'  beds;  it  is  all  we  can  do  for  them  whatever 
the  weather,  and  they  appreciate  it  highly.  It  may 
be  that  dog  moccasins  must  be  taken  off  and  strung 
around  the  stove  to  dry,  and  before  supper  is  ready  the 
inside   ridge-rope  of  the  tent  is  heavy  with  all  sorts  of 


CAMP  COOKING  43 

drying  man-wear:  socks,  moccasins,  scarfs,  toques,  mit- 
tens. One  of  the  earliest  habits  a  man  learns  on  the 
trail  is  to  hang  up  everything  to  dry  as  soon  as  he  takes 
it  off.  Why  should  it  be  hung  up  to  dry  unless  it  has 
got  wet?  the  writer  was  once  asked,  in  detailing  these 
operations.  Because  there  is  no  other  way  to  remove 
the  ice  with  which  everything  becomes  incrusted  in  very 
cold  weather. 

As  his  snow  melts  the  cook  throws  into  the  pot  a 
few  handfuls  of  evaporated  potatoes,  a  handful  of  evap- 
orated onions,  and  smaller  quantities  of  evaporated 
"soup  vegetables,"  and  leaves  them  to  soak  and  simmer 
and  resume  their  original  size  and  flavour.  By  and  by 
he  will  cut  up  the  moose  meat  or  the  rabbits  or  birds, 
or  whatever  game  he  may  have,  and  throw  it  in,  and 
in  an  hour  or  an  hour  and  a  half  there  will  be  a  savoury 
stew  that,  with  a  pan  of  biscuits  cooked  in  an  aluminum 
reflector  beside  the  stove  and  a  big  pot  of  tea,  consti- 
tutes the  principal  meal  of  the  day.  Or  if  the  day  has 
been  long  and  sleep  seems  more  attractive  even  than 
grub,  he  will  turn  some  frozen  beans,  already  boiled, 
into  a  frying-pan  with  a  big  lump  of  butter,  and  when 
his  meat  is  done  supper  is  ready.  Beans  thus  prepared 
eaten  red  hot  with  grated  cheese  are  delicious  to  a  hun- 
gry man.  With  the  stove  for  a  sideboard,  food  may 
always  be  eaten  hot,  and  that  is  one  advantage  of  camp 
fare. 

The  men  satisfied,  the  dogs  remain,  and  while  two 
of  the  party  wash  dishes  and  clean  up,  the  third  feeds 
the  dogs.     Their  pot  of  food  has  been  cooling  for  an 


44    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

hour  or  more.  They  will  not  eat  it  until  it  is  cold  and 
a  mess  of  rice  will  hold  heat  a  long  time  even  in  the 
coldest  weather.  When  it  is  nearly  cold  it  is  dished 
out  with  a  paddle  into  the  individual  pans  and  the  dogs 
make  short  work  of  it.  There  are  some  who  feed  straight 
fish,  and,  if  the  fish  be  king  salmon  of  the  best  quality, 
the  dogs  do  well  enough  on  it.  But  on  any  long  run 
it  is  decidedly  economical  to  cook  for  the  dogs — not  so 
much  from  the  standpoint  of  direct  cost  as  from  that 
of  weight  and  ease  of  hauling.  An  hundred  pounds  of 
fish  plus  an  hundred  pounds  of  rice  plus  fifty  pounds  of 
tallow  will  go  a  great  deal  farther  than  two  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds  of  fish  alone.  There  is  little  doubt, 
too,  that  in  the  long  run  the  dogs  do  better  on  cooked 
food.  It  is  easier  of  digestion  and  easier  to  apportion 
in  uniform  rations.  Rice  and  fish  make  excellent  food. 
The  Japs  took  Port  Arthur  on  rice  and  fish.  The  tallow 
answers  a  demand  of  the  climate  and  is  increased  as  the 
weather  grows  colder.  Man  and  dog  alike  require  quan- 
tities of  fat  food  in  this  climate;  it  is  astonishing  how 
much  bacon  and  butter  one  can  eat.  When  the  dogs 
have  eaten,  and  each  one  has  made  the  rounds  of  all 
the  other  pans  to  be  sure  nothing  is  left,  they  retire  to 
their  respective  nests  of  spruce  bough  and  curl  them- 
selves up  with  many  turnings  round  and  much  rear- 
ranging of  the  litter.  Feet  and  nose  are  neatly  tucked 
in,  the  tail  is  adjusted  carefully  over  all,  the  hair  on  the 
body  stands  straight  up,  and  the  dogs  have  gone  to  bed 
and  do  not  like  to  be  disturbed  again. 

Therein  lies  the  cruelty  of  depriving  them  of  their 


DOG-HARNESS  45 

tails,  which  used  to  be  the  general  custom  in  this  coun- 
try. The  old  tandem  harness  almost  required  it,  as 
the  breath  of  the  dog  behind  condensed  upon  the  tail 
of  the  dog  in  front  until  he  was  carrying  around  perma- 
nently a  mass  of  ice  that  was  a  burden  to  him  and  ren- 
dered his  tail  useless  for  warmth.  But  the  rig  with  a 
long  mid  -rope,  to  which  the  dogs  are  attached  by  single- 
trees in  such  manner  that  they  may  at  will  be  hitched 
abreast  or  one  ahead  of  the  other  as  the  trail  is  wide 
or  narrow,  is  superseding  the  tandem  rig,  and  one  sees 
more  bushy  tails  amongst  the  dogs.  The  thick,  long- 
haired tail  of  the  dog  in  this  country  is  indeed  his  blanket, 
and  in  cold  weather  the  tailless  dog  is  at  a  great  dis- 
advantage. 

It  was  said  that  all  the  dogs  retired  to  the  nests  of 
spruce  bough;  it  should  have  been  all  but  one.  It  is 
Lingo's  special  charge  to  guard  the  sled  and  his  special 
privilege  to  sleep  on  it.  Turning  around  and  curling 
up  on  the  softest  spot  he  can  find  of  the  unlashed  and 
partly  unloaded  toboggan,  he  will  not  touch  anything 
it  contains  nor  permit  any  other  dog  to  touch  it. 

The  northern  skies  are  clouded  the  next  morning, 
the  first  day  of  the  new  year,  and  there  is  a  ruddy  dawn 
that  is  glorious  to  behold.  The  white  earth  gives  back 
a  soft  rose  tint,  as  an  organ  pipe  gives  back  a  faint  tone 
to  the  strong  vibration  of  another  pipe  in  pitch  with  it. 
We  shall  not  see  the  sun  himself  any  more  for  many 
weeks,  but  we  see  his  light  upon  the  flanks  of  the  moun- 
tains for  an  hour  or  so  around  noon.  The  bold,  shapely 
peaks  of  the  South  Fork  of  the  Koyukuk  turn  their  snows 


46    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

to  pink  fire  as  his  rays  slowly  descend  their  sides,  and 
the  whole  scene  is  exquisitely  beautiful.  What  a  won- 
derful thing  colour  is!  When  the  skies  are  overcast  this 
is  a  dead  black-and-white  country  in  winter,  for  spruce, 
the  prevailing  wood,  is  black  in  the  mass  at  a  little  dis- 
tance. Gaze  where  one  will,  there  is  naught  but  black 
and  white.  The  eye  becomes  tired  of  the  monotony  and 
longs  for  some  warmer  tone.  That  is  surely  the  reason 
why  all  those  who  live  in  the  country  cherish  some  gay 
article  of  attire,  why  the  natives  love  brilliant  handker- 
chiefs, why  the  white  man  also  will  choose  a  crimson  scarf. 
Trudging  at  the  handle-bars,  I  have  found  pleasure  in 
the  red  pompons  of  the  dogs'  harness,  in  the  gay  bead- 
ing of  mitten  and  hind-sack.  And  that  is  why  a  lavish 
feast  of  colour  such  as  this  dawn  stirs  one's  spirit  with 
such  keen  delight.     It  gives  life  to  a  dead  world. 

But  the  wind  is  still  bitter  and  interferes  sadly  with 
one's  enjoyment.  All  through  the  valley,  up  the  creek 
by  which  we  leave  it,  past  the  twin  lakes  on  the  low 
summit,  the  wind  grows  in  force,  and  when  we  leave 
Slate  Creek  for  the  present  and  make  a  "portage"  over 
a  mountain  shoulder  to  strike  the  creek  again  much 
lower  down,  the  wind  has  risen  to  a  gale  that  overturns 
the  toboggans  and  makes  the  men  fight  for  their  foot- 
ing. The  actual  physical  labour  of  it  is  enormous,  and 
there  can  be  no  rest;  it  is  too  bitterly  cold  in  that  blast 
to  stop.  For  a  mile  or  two  we  struggle  and  slave  to 
beat  our  way  around  that  mountain  shoulder  and  then 
drop  down  to  the  creek  again.  The  blessed  relief  it  is 
to  get  out  of  the  fury  of  that  wind  into  the  compara- 


u 


Ui 


THE   KOYUKUK  GOLD  CAMP  47 

tive  shelter  of  the  creek,  to  be  done  with  the  ceaseless 
toil  of  holding  the  heavy  toboggans  from  hurtling  down 
the  hillside,  to  be  able  to  keep  one's  feet  without  con- 
tinually slipping  and  falling  on  the  wind-hardened  snow, 
no  words  can  adequately  convey.  We  are  all  frozen 
again  a  little;  this  man's  nose  is  touched,  that  man's 
cheeks,  and  the  other  man's  finger. 

On  the  middle  fork  of  the  Koyukuk,  at  the  mouth 
of  Slate  Creek,  Coldfoot  sits  within  a  cirque  of  rugged 
mountain  peaks,  the  most  northerly  postal  town  in  the 
interior  of  Alaska,  the  most  northerly  gold-mining  town 
in  the  world,  as  it  claims.  It  sprang  into  existence  in 
1900  and  flourished  for  a  season  or  two  with  the  usual 
accompaniments  of  such  florification.  In  1906  it  was 
already  much  decayed,  and  is  now  dead.  Ever  since  its 
start  the  Koyukuk  camp  has  steadily  produced  gold  and 
given  occupation  to  miners  numbering  from  one  hundred 
and  fifty  to  three  hundred,  but  the  scene  of  operations, 
and  therefore  the  depot  for  supplies,  has  continually 
changed.  In  1900  the  chief  producing  creek  was  Myrtle, 
which  is  a  tributary  of  Slate  Creek,  and  the  town  at 
the  mouth  was  in  eligible  situation,  though  much  over- 
built from  the  first.  Then  the  centre  of  interest  shifted 
to  Nolan  Creek,  fifteen  miles  farther  up  the  river,  which 
is  a  tributary  of  Wiseman  Creek,  and  the  town  of  Wise- 
man sprang  up  at  the  mouth  of  that  creek.  The  post- 
office,  the  commissioner's  office,  and  the  saloon,  the 
stores  and  road-houses,  migrated  to  the  new  spot,  and 
Coldfoot  was  abandoned.  Now  the  chief  producing 
creek  is  the  Hammond  River,  still  farther  up  the  Koyu- 


48    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

kuk,  and  if  its  placer  deposits  prove  as  rich  as  they 
promise  it  is  likely  that  a  town  will  spring  up  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Hammond  which  will  supersede  Wiseman. 

There  has  never  been  found  a  continuous  pay-streak 
in  the  Koyukuk  camp.  It  is  what  is  known  as  a  "  pocket " 
camp.  Now  and  again  a  "spot"  is  found  which  en- 
riches its  discoverers,  while  on  the  claims  above  and 
below  that  spot  the  ground  may  be  too  poor  to  work 
at  a  profit;  for  ground  must  be  rich  to  be  worked  at 
all  in  the  Koyukuk.  It  is  the  most  expensive  camp  in 
Alaska,  perhaps  in  the  world.  This  is  due  to  its  remote- 
ness and  difficulty  of  access.  Far  north  of  the  Arctic 
Circle,  the  diggings  are  about  seventy-five  miles  above 
the  head  of  light-draught  steamboat  navigation,  and 
more  than  six  hundred  miles  above  the  confluence  of 
the  Koyukuk  with  the  Yukon.  Transshipped  at  Nulato 
to  the  shoal-water  steamboats  that  make  three  or  four 
trips  a  season  up  the  Koyukuk,  transshipped  again  at 
Bettles,  the  head  of  any  steamboat  navigation,  freight 
must  be  hauled  on  horse  scows  the  remaining  seventy- 
five  miles  of  the  journey;  and  all  that  handling  and 
hauling  means  high  rates.  The  cost  of  living,  the  cost 
of  machinery,  the  general  cost  of  all  mining  operations 
is  much  higher  than  on  the  Yukon  or  on  the  other  tribu- 
taries of  that  river.  The  very  smallness  of  the  camp  is 
a  factor  in  the  high  prices,  for  there  is  not  trade  enough 
to  induce  brisk  competition  with  the  reduction  of  rates 
that  competition  brings. 

Yet  the  smallness  and  the  isolation  of  the  camp  have 
their   compensations.     There    is    more   community   life, 


MINERS'  GENEROSITY  49 

more  esprit  de  corps  amongst  the  Koyukuk  miners  than 
will  be  found  in  any  other  camp  in  Alaska.  Thrown 
upon  their  own  resources  for  amusement,  social  gather- 
ings are  more  common  and  are  made  more  of,  and  hos- 
pitality is  universal.  Like  all  sparsely  settled  and  fron- 
tier lands,  Alaska  is  a  very  hospitable  place  in  general, 
but  the  Koyukuk  has  earned  the  name  of  the  most  hos- 
pitable camp  in  Alaska.  Since  the  numbers  are  small, 
and  each  man  is  well  known  to  all  the  others,  any  sick- 
ness or  suffering  makes  an  immediate  appeal  and  brings 
a  generous  response.  Again  and  again  the  unfortunate 
victim  of  accident  or  disease  has  been  sent  outside  for 
treatment,  the  considerable  money  required  being  quickly 
raised  by  public  subscription.  There  is  probably  no 
other  gold  camp  in  the  world  where  it  is  a  common 
thing  for  the  owner  of  a  good  claim  to  tell  a  neighbour 
who  is  "broke"  to  take  a  pan  and  go  down  to  the  drift 
and  help  himself. 

Until  my  visit  of  the  previous  year  no  minister  of 
religion  of  any  sort  had  penetrated  to  the  Koyukuk,  and, 
save  for  one  journey  thither  by  Bishop  Rowe,  my  an- 
nual visits  have  been  the  only  opportunities  for  public 
worship  since.  It  will  suffice  for  the  visit  now  describ- 
ing as  well  as  for  all  the  others  to  say  that  the  reception 
was  most  cordial  and  the  opportunity  much  appreciated. 
We  went  from  creek  to  creek  and  gathered  the  men  and 
the  few  women  in  whatever  cabin  was  most  convenient, 
and  no  clergyman  could  wish  for  more  attentive  or  in- 
terested congregations. 

Upon  our  return  to  Coldfoot  from  the  creek  visits 


50    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

the  thermometer  stood  at  52°  below  zero,  although  it 
had  been  no  lower  than  38°  below  when  we  left  the 
last  creek,  some  fifteen  miles  away.  As  a  general  rule, 
the  temperature  on  these  mountain  creeks,  which  are  at 
some  considerable  elevation  above  the  river  into  which 
they  flow,  will  read  from  10°  to  15°  higher  than  on  the 
river,  and  if  one  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  peaks  around 
Coldfoot,  the  difl^erence  then  would  probably  be  20°  or 
25°.  At  the  summit  road-house  between  Fairbanks  and 
Cleary  City  in  the  Tanana  country  in  cold  weather  the 
thermometer  commonly  reads  20°  above  the  one  place 
and  10°  or  15°  above  the  other. 

This  interesting  fact,  which  surprises  a  good  many 
people,  for  we  are  used  to  think  of  elevated  places  as  cold 
places,  is  due  to  the  greater  heaviness  of  cold  air,  which 
sinks  to  the  lowest  level  it  can  reach;  and  the  river  bed 
is  the  lowest  part  of  the  country.  It  would  be  interest- 
ing to  find  out  to  what  extent  this  rule  holds  good.  The 
ridges  and  the  hilltops  are  always  the  warmest  places  in 
cold  weather;  would  this  hold  as  regards  mountain  tops? 
— as  regards  high  mountain  tops?  Probably  it  would 
hold  in  the  sunshine,  but  the  rapid  radiation  of  heat 
in  the  rarefied  atmosphere  of  mountain  tops  would  swing 
the  balance  the  other  way  after  dark.  There  is  no  doubt, 
however,  that  the  coldest  place  in  cold  weather  in  Alaska 
is  the  river  surface,  and  it  is  on  the  river  surface  that 
most  of  our  travelling  is  done.  The  night  we  returned 
to  Coldfoot  we  put  our  toboggan  up  high  on  the  roof 
of  an  outhouse  to  keep  its  skin  sides  from  the  teeth  of 
some  hungry  native  dogs,  leaving  some  of  the  load  that 


LINGO  51 

was  not  required  within  it,  covered  by  the  sled  cloth. 
Later  on  I  saw  by  the  light  of  the  moon  Lingo's  sil- 
houetted figure  sitting  bolt  upright  on  top  of  the  sled, 
and  he  gave  his  short  double  bark  as  I  drew  near  to 
make  me  notice  that  he  was  still  doing  his  duty  although 
under  difficulties.  The  dog  had  climbed  up  a  wood-pile 
and  had  jumped  to  the  top  of  the  outhouse  and  so  to 
the  sled.  I  thought  of  Kipling's  Men  That  Fought  at 
Minden : 

*'  For  fatigue  it  was  their  pride 
And  they  would  not  be  denied 
To  clean  the  cook-house  floor." 

Here  at  Coldfoot  we  came  first  into  contact  with 
that  interesting  tribe  of  wandering  inland  Esquimaux 
known  as  the  Kobuks,  from  their  occupation  of  the 
river  of  that  name.  The  Koyukuk  has  its  own  Indian 
people,  but  these  enterprising  Kobuks  have  pushed  their 
way  farther  and  farther  from  salt  water  into  what  used 
to  be  exclusive  Indian  territory.  Representatives  of 
both  races  were  at  Coldfoot,  and  as  we  lay  weather- 
bound for  a  couple  of  days,  I  was  enabled  to  renew  last 
year's  acquaintance  with  them,  though  without  a  good 
interpreter  not  much  progress  was  made.  The  delight 
of  these  people  at  the  road-house  phonograph,  the  first 
they  had  ever  heard,  was  some  compensation  for  the 
incessant  snarl  and  scream  of  the  instrument  itself.  It 
was  very  funny  to  see  them  sitting  on  the  floor,  roaring 
with  laughter  at  one  particularly  silly  spoken  record  of 
the  "Uncle  Josh  at  the  World's  Fair"  order.  Over  and 
over  again  they  would  ask  for  that  record,  and  it  never 


52    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

ceased  to  convulse  them  with  laughter.  "He's  been  en- 
joyin'  poor  health  lately,  but  this  mornin'  I  heard  him 
complain  that  he  felt  a  little  better" — how  sick  and  tired 
we  got  of  this  and  similar  jokes  drawled  out  a  dozen 
times  running!  The  natives  did  not  understand  a  word 
of  it;  it  was  the  human  voice  with  its  pronounced,  un- 
usual inflections  that  aroused  their  merriment.  The 
phonograph  is  becoming  a  powerful  agency  for  dissem- 
inating a  knowledge  of  English  amongst  the  natives 
throughout  Alaska,  and  one  wishes  that  it  were  put  to 
better  use  than  the  reproduction  of  silly  and  often  vul- 
gar monologue  and  dialogue  and  trashy  ragtime  music. 
As  an  index  of  the  taste  of  those  who  purchase  records, 
the  selection  brought  to  this  country  points  low. 

The  third  day  the  thermometer  stood  at  — 49°  and  we 
were  free  to  leave  without  actually  breaking  the  rule  we 
had  made  after  the  escapade  on  the  Yukon.  Two  other 
teams  were  going  down  the  river,  so  we  started  with 
them  on  the  sixty-five  mile  journey  to  Bettles.  Twenty 
miles  or  so  below  Coldfoot  the  Koyukuk  passes  for  sev- 
eral miles  in  a  narrow  channel  between  steep  rock  bluffs, 
with  here  and  there  great  detached  masses  standing  in 
the  middle  of  the  river.  One  has  a  grotesque  resem- 
blance to  an  aged  bishop  in  his  vestments  and  is  known 
as  the  Bishop  Rock;  another  a  more  remote  likeness  to 
an  Indian  woman,  and  this  is  known  as  the  Squaw 
Rock.  This  part  of  the  river,  which  is  called  the  canon 
of  the  Koyukuk,  though  it  is  not  a  true  canon,  is  very 
picturesque,  and  because  of  frequent  overflow,  offers 
glare  ice  and  swift  passage  to  the  traveller  when  it  does 


TRAVELLING  AT  "50   BELOW"  53 

not  embarrass  him  with  running  water.  We  were  for- 
tunate enough  to  pass  it  without  getting  our  dogs'  feet 
wet,  and  made  the  half-way  road-house  in  a  brilHant 
moon  that  rendered  travelhng  at  night  pleasanter  than 
during  the  day. 

The  next  day  we  started  again  at  near  50°  below, 
but  because  there  was  a  good  trail  and  a  road-house  for 
noon,  the  travelling  was  rather  pleasant  than  otherwise. 
If  there  be  a  warm  house  to  break  the  day's  march  and 
eat  in,  where  ice-incrusted  scarfs  and  parkees  and  caps 
and  mittens  may  be  dried  out,  with  a  warm  outhouse 
where  the  dogs  may  rest  in  comfort,  travelling  in  such 
weather  is  not  too  risky  or  too  severely  trying.  The 
continual  condensation  of  the  moisture  from  the  breath 
upon  everything  about  the  head  and  face  is  a  decided 
inconvenience,  and  when  it  condenses  upon  the  eye- 
lashes, and  the  upper  and  the  lower  lashes  freeze  to- 
gether, the  ice  must  be  removed  or  it  is  impossible  to 
open  the  eyes.  This  requires  the  momentary  applica- 
tion of  the  bare  hand,  and  every  time  it  goes  back  into 
the  mitten  it  carries  some  moisture  with  it,  so  that  after 
a  while  mittens  are  wet  as  well  as  head-gear;  moreover, 
there  is  always  a  certain  perspiration  that  condenses. 
One  gets  into  the  habit  of  turning  the  duffel  lining  of 
the  moose-hide  mitts  inside  out  and  hanging  them  up  the 
moment  one  gets  inside  a  cabin.  Round  every  road- 
house  stove  there  is  a  rack  constructed  for  just  that 
purpose. 

There  is  no  more  striking  phenomenon  of  the  arctic 
trail  than  the  behaviour  of  smoke  in  cold  weather.     As 


54    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

one  approaches  a  road-house,  and  to  greater  degree  a 
village  or  a  town,  it  is  seen  enveloped  in  mist,  although 
there  be  no  open  water  to  account  for  it,  and  the  pros- 
pect in  every  other  direction  be  brilliantly  clear.  It  is 
not  mist  at  all;  it  is  merely  the  smoke  from  the  stove- 
pipes. And  the  explanation  is  simple,  although  not  all 
at  once  arrived  at.  Smoke  rises  because  it  is  warmer 
than  the  air  into  which  it  is  discharged;  for  that  and 
no  other  reason.  Now,  when  smoke  is  discharged  into 
air  at  a  temperature  of  50°  below  zero,  it  is  deprived 
of  its  heat  immediately  and  falls  to  the  ground  by  its 
greater  specific  gravity.  The  smoke  may  be  observed 
just  issuing  from  the  pipe,  or  rising  but  a  few  feet,  and 
then  curling  downward  to  be  diffused  amidst  the  air 
near  the  ground. 

It  was  to  such  a  smoke-enveloped  inn  that  we  pulled 
up  to  warm  and  refresh  ourselves  and  our  team  for  the 
twenty  miles  that  remained  of  the  day's  march.  We 
had  almost  reached  the  limit  of  Koyukuk  road-houses. 
Bettles  being  the  head  of  navigation,  and  merchandise 
late  in  the  season  finding  water  too  shallow  for  trans- 
port to  the  diggings,  there  is  more  or  less  freighting  with 
dog  teams  and  horses  all  the  winter.  This  travel  keeps 
open  the  road-houses  on  the  route.  From  an  "outside" 
point  of  view  they  may  appear  rough  and  the  fare  coarse. 
The  night  accommodation  is  a  double  row  of  bunks  on 
each  side  of  a  long  room  with  a  great  stove  in  the  mid- 
dle. Sometimes  there  is  straw  in  the  bunks,  sometimes 
spruce  boughs;  in  the  better  class  even  sometimes  hay- 
stuffed  mattresses.     But  to  the  weary  traveller,  who  has 


METEOROLOGICAL  55 

battled  with  the  storm  or  endured  the  intense  cold  for 
hours  at  a  stretch,  they  are  glad  havens  of  refuge;  they 
are  often  even  life-saving  stations. 

While  we  lay  at  the  road-house  the  clear  sky  clouded 
and  the  thermometer  rose.  This  is  an  unfailing  sequence. 
Clear,  bright  weather  is  cold  weather;  cloudy  weather  is 
warm  weather.  The  usual  explanation,  that  the  cloud 
acts  as  a  blanket  that  checks  the  radiation  of  heat  from 
the  earth,  is  one  of  those  explanations  that  do  not  ex- 
plain. There  is  no  heat  to  radiate.  The  cloud  is  a  mass 
of  moist  air,  which  is  warm  air,  introducing  itself  from 
some  milder  region.  So  the  cloud  brings  the  heat;  and 
the  lower  layers  of  atmosphere  extract  it  and  thereby  dis- 
charge the  moisture.  For  an  hour  or  two  around  noon 
the  thermometer  stood  at  — 35°  and  there  was  a  light  fall 
of  snow;  then  the  skies  cleared  because  they  were  dis- 
charged of  all  their  moisture,  and  the  thermometer  went 
down  to  — 50°  again.  It  is  a  beautifully  simple  process 
and  sometimes  takes  place  two  or  three  times  a  day. 
Every  time  the  sky  clouds,  the  thermometer  rises ;  every 
time  the  sky  clears,  the  thermometer  falls.  And  because 
the  barometer  gives  notice  of  changes  in  the  density  of 
the  atmosphere,  it  is  valuable  in  forecasting  tempera- 
ture in  our  winters.  A  steady  rise  in  the  barometer 
means  a  steady  fall  in  the  thermometer;  a  fall  in  the 
barometer  in  a  time  of  great  cold  infallibly  prophesies 
warmer  weather;  even  such  rapid  changes  as  the  one 
given  above  are  anticipated.  So  well  is  this  established, 
that  during  "5o°-below  spells"  at  Fairbanks,  impatient, 
weather-bound  travellers  and  freighters  would  busy  the 


56    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

hospital  telephone  with  inquiries  about  the  barometer, 
the  hospital  having  the  only  barometer  in  the  country. 

After  another  long,  cold  run,  on  the  night  of  Friday, 
the  1 2th  of  January,  we  reached  Bettles,  the  place  we 
had  planned  to  spend  Christmas  at.  We  were  unable 
to  stir  from  Bettles  for  two  solid  weeks,  for  during  the 
whole  of  that  time  the  thermometer  never  rose  above 
50°  below  zero. 

The  long  wait  at  Bettles  would  have  been  excessively 
tedious  had  it  not  been  for  the  kind  hospitality  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Charles  Grimm,  the  Commercial  Company's 
agent  and  his  wife,  and  this  is  but  one  of  many  times 
that  I  have  been  under  obligation  to  them  for  cordial 
welcome  and  entertainment,  for  needs  anticipated,  and 
every  sort  of  assistance  gladly  rendered.  We  had  been 
expected  many  days;  the  Christmas  festivities  with  a 
gathering  of  natives  of  both  races  had  come  and  gone; 
still  they  looked  for  us,  for  in  this  country  one  does  not 
give  a  man  up  merely  because  he  is  a  few  weeks  behind 
time,  nor  hold  him  to  account  for  unpunctuality.  The 
natives  remained  for  the  most  part,  and  there  was  abun- 
dant opportunity  of  intercourse  with  them  and  some  be- 
ginnings of  instruction.  As  the  days  passed  and  all  ar- 
rangements for  our  advance  were  made,  we  chafed  more 
and  more  at  the  delay,  for  it  was  very  plain  that  the 
prospect  of  visiting  Point  Hope  grew  less  and  less;  but 
this  is  a  great  country  for  teaching  patience  and  resigna- 
tion. 

Some  of  the  weather  during  that  two  weeks'  wait 
was  of  quite  exceptional  severity.     One  night  is  fixed 


PARASELEN.E  57 

for  ever  in  my  memory.  It  is  a  very  rare  thing  for  the 
wind  to  blow  in  the  "strong  cold,"  but  that  night  there 
was  a  wind  at  58°  below  zero.  And  high  up  in  the 
heavens  was  a  sight  I  had  never  seen  before.  The 
moon,  little  past  her  full,  had  a  great  ring  around  her, 
faintly  prismatic;  and  equidistant  from  her,  where  a 
line  through  her  centre  parallel  with  the  horizon  would 
cut  the  ring,  were  two  other  moons,  distinct  and  clear. 
It  was  a  strangely  beautiful  thing,  this  sight  of  three 
moons  sailing  aloft  through  the  starry  sky,  as  though 
the  beholder  had  been  suddenly  translated  to  some  planet 
that  enjoys  a  plurality  of  satellites,  but  no  living  being 
could  stand  long  at  gaze  in  that  wind  and  that  cold.  A 
perfect  paraselene  is,  I  am  convinced,  an  extremely  rare 
thing,  much  rarer  than  a  perfect  parhelion  ("moon-cats" 
my  companion  thought  the  phenomenon  should  be  called, 
saving  the  canine  simile  for  the  sun),  for  in  seven  years' 
travel  I  have  never  seen  another,  and  the  references  to 
it  in  literature  are  few. 

The  next  day  at  noon,  the  sun  not  visible  above  the 
distant  mountains,  there  appeared  in  the  sky  a  great 
shining  cross  of  orange  light,  just  over  the  sun's  position, 
that  held  and  shone  for  nigh  an  hour  and  only  faded  with 
the  twilight.  It  is  not  surprising  that  these  appear- 
ances should  deeply  impress  the  untutored  mind  and 
should  be  deemed  significant  and  portentous;  they  must 
deeply  impress  any  normal  mind,  they  are  so  grand  and 
so  strange.  The  man  who  has  trained  his  intellect  until 
it  is  so  stale,  and  starved  his  imagination  until  it  is  so 
shrivelled  that  he  can  gaze  unmoved  at  such  spectacles, 


58    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

that  they  are  insignificant  to  him,  has  but  reduced  him- 
self to  the  level  of  the  dog  upon  whom  also  they  make 
no  impression — though  even  a  dog  will  howl  at  a  great 
aurora.  Of  course  we  know  all  about  them;  any  school- 
boy can  pick  up  a  primer  of  physical  geography  and 
explain  the  laws  of  refraction,  and  the  ugly  and  most 
libellous  diagram  of  circles  and  angles  that  shows  just 
how  these  lustrous  splendours  happen;  but  the  mys- 
tery beyond  is  not  by  one  hair's  breadth  impaired  nor 
their  influence  upon  the  spectator  diminished.  In  Alaska 
perhaps  more  than  any  other  country  it  is  the  heavens 
that  declare  the  glory  of  God  and  the  firmament  that 
shows  His  handiwork,  and  the  awestruck  Indian  who 
comes  with  timid  inquiry  of  the  import  of  such  phe- 
nomena is  rightfully  and  scientifically  answered  that  the 
Great  Father  is  setting  a  sign  in  the  sky  that  He  still 
rules,  that  His  laws  and  commandments  shall  never  lose 
their  force,  whether  in  the  heavens  above  or  on  the  earth 
beneath. 

The  "strong  cold"  itself  is  an  awe-inspiring  thing 
even  to  those  who  have  been  familiar  with  it  all  their 
lives;  and  a  dweller  in  other  climes,  endowed  with  any 
imagination,  may  without  much  difficulty  enter  into  the 
feelings  of  one  who  experiences  it  for  the  first  time.  It 
descends  upon  the  earth  in  the  brief  twilight  and  long 
darkness  of  the  dead  of  winter  with  an  irresistible  power 
and  an  inflexible  menace.  Fifty  below,  sixty  below,  even 
seventy  below,  the  thermometer  reads.  Mercury  is  long 
since  frozen  solid  and  the  alcohol  grows  sluggish.  Land 
and   water   are   alike   iron;    utter   stillness   and  silence 


THE  STRONG  COLD  59 

usually  reign.  Bare  the  hand,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the 
fingers  will  turn  white  and  be  frozen  to  the  bone.  Stand 
still,  and  despite  all  clothing,  all  woollens,  all  furs,  the 
body  will  gradually  become  numb  and  death  stalk  upon 
the  scene.  The  strong  cold  brings  fear  with  it.  All 
devices  to  exclude  it,  to  conserve  the  vital  heat  seem 
feeble  and  futile  to  contend  with  its  terrible  power.  It 
seems  to  hold  all  living  things  in  a  crushing  relentless 
grasp,  and  to  tighten  and  tighten  the  grip  as  the  temper- 
ature falls. 

Yet  the  very  power  of  it,  and  the  dread  that  accom- 
panies it,  give  a  certain  fearful  and  romantic  joy  to  the 
conquest  of  it.  A  man  who  has  endured  it  all  day,  who 
has  endured  it  day  after  day,  face  to  face  with  it  in  the 
open,  feels  himself  somewhat  the  more  man  for  the  ex- 
perience, feels  himself  entered  the  more  fully  into  human 
possibilities  and  powers,  feels  an  exultation  that  manhood 
is  stronger  even  than  the  strong  cold.  But  he  is  a  fool 
if  ever  he  grow  to  disdain  the  enemy.  It  waits,  inex- 
orable, for  just  such  disdain,  and  has  slain  many  at  last 
who  had  long  and  often  withstood  it. 

On  those  rare  occasions  when  there  is  any  wind,  any 
movement  of  the  air  at  all,  there  enters  another  and  a 
different  feeling.  Into  the  menace  of  a  power,  irresis- 
tible, inflexible,  but  yet  insentient,  there  seems  to  enter 
a  purposeful,  vengeful  evil.  It  pursues.  The  cold  itself 
becomes  merely  a  condition;  the  wind  a  deadly  weapon 
which  uses  that  condition  to  deprive  its  victim  of  all 
defence.  The  warmth  which  active  exercise  stores  up, 
the  buckler  of  the  traveller,  is  borne  away.     His  reserves 


6o    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

are  invaded,  depleted,  destroyed.  And  then  the  wind 
falls  upon  him  with  its  sword.  Of  all  of  which  we  were 
to  have  instance  here  on  the  Koyukuk. 

In  the  second  week  of  our  stay  at  Bettles,  while 
Divine  service  was  in  progress  in  the  store  building, 
crowded  with  whites  and  natives,  the  door  opened  and, 
with  an  inrush  of  cold  air  that  condensed  the  moisture 
at  that  end  of  the  room  into  a  cloud  and  shot  along  the 
floor  like  steam  from  an  engine  exhaust,  there  entered 
an  Indian  covered  with  rime,  his  whole  head-gear  one 
mass  of  white  frost,  his  snow-shoes,  just  removed,  under 
his  arm,  and  a  beaded  moose-skin  wallet  over  his  shoulder. 
Every  eye  was  at  once  turned  to  him  as  he  beat  the 
frost  from  his  parkee  hood  and  thrust  it  back,  unwrapped 
fold  after  fold  of  the  ice-crusted  scarf  from  his  face,  and 
pulled  off  his  mittens.  Seeking  out  the  agent,  he  moved 
over  to  him  and  whispered  something  in  his  ear.  It 
was  plain  that  the  errand  was  of  moment  and  the  mes- 
sage disturbing,  and  as  I  had  lost  the  attention  of  the 
congregation  and  the  continuity  of  my  own  discourse, 
I  drew  things  to  a  close  as  quickly  as  I  decently  could. 
That  Indian  had  come  seventy-five  miles  on  snow-shoes 
in  one  run,  without  stopping  at  all  save  to  eat  two  or 
three  times,  at  a  continuous  temperature  of  50°  below  zero 
or  lower,  to  bring  word  that  he  had  found  a  white  man 
frozen  to  death  on  the  trail;  and  on  the  Koyukuk  that 
feat  will  always  be  counted  to  Albert  the  Pilot  for  right- 
eousness. From  the  location  and  description  of  the  dead 
man,  there  was  no  difficulty  in  identifying  him.  He  was 
a  wood-chopper  under  contract  with  the  company  to  cut 


"FOUND   FROZEN"  6i 

one  hundred  cords  of  steamboat  wood  against  next  sum- 
mer's navigation  at  a  spot  about  one  hundred  miles 
below  Bettles.  He  had  taken  down  with  him  on  the 
"last  water"  enough  grub  for  about  three  months,  and 
was  to  return  to  Bettles  for  Christmas  and  for  fresh 
supplies.  After  a  day  or  two's  rest  the  Indian  was  sent 
back  with  instructions  to  bring  the  body  to  a  native 
village  we  should  visit,  to  whipsaw  lumber  for  a  coffin 
and  dig  a  grave,  and  we  engaged  to  give  the  body  Chris- 
tian burial. 

Uneasy  at  the  softening  muscles  and  sinews  of  this 
long  inaction,  I  took  snow-shoes  and  a  couple  of  Kobuks 
one  day  and  made  an  ascent  of  the  hill  behind  Bettles 
known  as  Lookout  Mountain,  because  from  its  top  the 
smoke  of  the  eagerly  expected  first  steamboat  of  the 
summer  may  be  seen  many  miles  down  the  river;  being 
moved  to  that  particular  excursion  by  dispute  among 
the  weather-bound  freighters  as  to  the  hill's  height. 

The  change  of  temperature  as  we  climbed  the  hill 
was  striking.  On  the  first  shoulder  we  were  already  out 
of  the  dense  atmosphere  of  the  valley  and  above  the 
smoke  gloom  of  the  houses,  and  as  we  rose  the  air  grew 
milder  and  milder,  until  at  the  top  we  emerged  into  the 
first  sunshine  of  many  weeks  and  were  in  an  altogether 
diff^erent  climate — balmy  and  grateful  it  was  to  us  just 
come  up  from  the  strong  cold.  The  aneroid  showed  the 
altitude  about  seven  hundred  feet  above  Bettles,  and  I 
regretted  very  much  I  had  not  brought  the  thermometer 
as  well,  for  its  reading  would  have  been  most  interesting. 

The  view  from  the  top  was  brilliantly  clear  and  far- 


62    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

reaching.  The  broad  plain  across  the  river  was  checkered 
black  and  white  with  alternating  spruce  thickets  and 
lakes;  beyond  it  and  the  mountains  that  bounded  it  lay 
the  valley  of  the  south  fork  which  we  had  crossed  fifty 
or  sixty  miles  farther  up  on  our  journey  hither.  Right 
in  front  of  us  the  middle  fork  made  its  big  bend  from 
southwest  to  south,  and  to  the  left,  that  is,  to  the  north, 
the  valley  of  the  John  River  opened  up  its  course  through 
the  sharp  white  peaks  of  the  Endicott  Mountains.  It 
was  in  this  direction  that  my  eyes  lingered  longest.  I 
knew  that  sixty  or  seventy  miles  up  this  river  we  could 
cross  the  low  Anaktuvak  Pass  into  the  Anaktuvak  River, 
which  flows  into  the  Colville,  and  that  descending  the 
Colville  we  could  reach  the  shores  of  the  Northern  Ocean. 
It  was  a  journey  I  had  wished  to  make — and  have  wished 
ever  since.  There  are  many  bands  of  Esquimaux  on  that 
coast,  never  visited  save  by  those  who  make  merchan- 
dise of  them  in  one  way  or  another.  Please  God,  some 
day  I  should  get  there;  meanwhile  our  present  hopes  lay 
west,  though,  indeed,  these  grew  daily  fainter. 


CHAPTER   III 

BETTLES  TO  THE  PACIFIC— THE  ALATNA,  KOBUK  PORTAGE, 
KOBUK   VILLAGE,    KOTZEBUE   SOUND 

All  our  preparations  were  long  since  made.  Our 
Indian  guide  had  been  sent  back  to  Fort  Yukon  from 
Coldfoot,  and  here  we  engaged  a  young  Esquimau  with 
his  dog  team  and  sled,  to  go  across  to  Kotzebue  Sound 
with  us.  There  was  also  a  young  Dane  who  wished  to 
go  from  the  Koyukuk  diggings  to  the  diggings  at  Candle 
Creek  on  the  Seward  Peninsula,  and  him  we  were  willing 
to  feed  in  return  for  his  assistance  on  the  trail.  The 
supplies  had  been  carefully  calculated  for  the  journey, 
the  toboggans  were  already  loaded,  and  we  waited  but 
a  break  in  the  cold  weather  to  start. 

Our  course  from  Bettles  would  lead  us  sixty-five  miles 
farther  down  the  Koyukuk  to  the  mouth  of  the  Alatna. 
The  visit  to  the  native  village  and  the  burial  of  the  poor 
fellow  frozen  to  death  would  take  us  ten  miles  farther 
down  than  that,  and  we  would  return  to  the  Alatna 
mouth.  Then  the  way  would  lie  for  fifty  miles  or  so  up 
that  stream,  and  then  over  a  portage,  across  to  the 
Kobuk  River,  which  we  should  descend  to  its  mouth  in 
Kotzebue  Sound;  the  whole  distance  being  about  five 
hundred  miles  through  a  very  little  travelled  country. 

We  learned  indeed,  that  it  had  been  travelled  but  once 

63 


64    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

this  winter,  and  that  on  the  first  snow.  It  was  thought 
at  Bettles  that  we  might  possibly  procure  some  suppUes 
at  a  newly  established  mission  of  the  Society  of  Friends 
about  half-way  down  the  Kobuk  River,  but  there  was  no 
certainty  about  it,  and  we  must  carry  with  us  enough 
man-food  to  take  us  to  salt  water.  Our  supply  of  dog 
fish  we  might  safely  count  upon  replenishing  from  the 
natives  on  the  Kobuk.  Another  thing  that  caused  some 
thought  was  the  supply  of  small  money.  There  was  no 
silver  and  no  currency  except  large  bills  on  the  Koyu- 
kuk,  and  we  should  need  money  in  small  sums  to  buy 
fish  with.  So  the  agent  weighed  out  a  number  of  little 
packets  of  gold-dust  carefully  sealed  up  in  stout  writing- 
paper  like  medicine  powders,  some  worth  a  dollar,  some 
worth  two  dollars,  the  value  written  on  the  face,  and  we 
found  them  readily  accepted  by  the  natives  and  very 
convenient.  Two  years  later  I  heard  of  some  of  those 
packets,  unbroken,  still  current  on  the  Kobuk. 

At  last,  on  the  26th  of  January,  we  got  away.  The 
thermometer  stood  only  a  few  degrees  above  — 50°  when 
we  left,  but  the  barometer  had  been  falling  slowly  for 
a  couple  of  days,  and  I  was  convinced  the  cold  spell  was 
over.  With  our  three  teams  and  four  men  we  made  quite 
a  little  expedition,  but  dogs  and  men  were  alike  soft,  and 
for  the  first  two  days  the  travel  was  laborious  and  slow; 
then  came  milder  weather  and  better  going. 

We  passed  the  two  ruined  huts  of  Peavey,  the  roofs 
crushed  by  the  superincumbent  snow.  In  the  summer 
of  1898  a  part  of  the  stream  of  gold  seekers,  headed  for 
the  Klondike  by  way  of  Saint  Michael,  was  deflected  to 


THE   KOYUKUK  "TOWNS"  OF  '98  65 

the  Koyukuk  River  by  reports  of  recent  discoveries 
there.  A  great  many  Httle  steamboat  outfits  made  their 
way  up  this  river  late  in  the  season,  until  their  excessive 
draught  in  the  falling  water  brought  them  to  a  stand. 
Where  they  stopped  they  wintered,  building  cabins  and 
starting  "towns."  In  one  or  two  cases  the  "towns" 
were  electrically  lit  from  the  steamboat's  dynamo.  The 
next  summer  they  all  left,  all  save  those  who  were  wrecked 
by  the  ice,  and  the  "towns"  were  abandoned.  But  they 
had  got  upon  the  map  through  some  enterprising  repre- 
sentative of  the  land  office,  and  they  figure  on  some 
recent  maps  still.  Peavey,  Seaforth,  Jimtown,  Arctic 
City,  Beaver  City,  Bergman,  are  all  just  names  and 
nothing  else,  though  at  Bergman  the  Commercial  Com- 
pany had  a  plant  for  a  while. 

We  passed  the  mouth  of  the  Alatna,  where  were  two 
or  three  Indian  cabins,  and  went  on  the  remaining  ten 
miles  to  Moses'  Village,  where  the  body  of  the  man  frozen 
to  death  had  been  brought.  Moses'  Village,  named  from 
the  chief,  was  the  largest  native  village  on  the  Koyukuk 
River,  and  we  were  glad,  despite  our  haste,  that  we  had 
gone  there.  The  repeated  requests  from  all  the  Indians 
we  met  for  a  mission  and  school  on  the  Koyukuk  River 
and  the  neglected  condition  of  the  people  had  moved  me 
the  previous  year  to  take  up  the  matter.  This  was  my 
first  visit,  however,  so  far  down  the  river. 

We  found  the  coffin  unmade  and  the  grave  undug, 
and  set  men  vigorously  to  work  at  both.  The  frozen 
body  had  been  found  fallen  forward  on  hands  and  feet, 
and  since  to  straighten  it  would  be  impossible  without 


66    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

several  days'  thawing  in  a  cabin,  the  coffin  had  to  be 
of  the  size  and  shape  of  a  packing-case;  of  course  the 
ground  for  the  grave  had  to  be  thawed  down,  for  so  are 
all  graves  dug  in  Alaska,  and  that  is  a  slow  business.  A 
fire  is  kindled  on  the  ground,  and  when  it  has  burned 
out,  as  much  ground  as  it  has  thawed  is  dug,  and  then 
another  fire  is  kindled.  We  had  our  own  gruesome  task. 
The  body  should  be  examined  to  make  legally  sure  that 
death  came  from  natural  causes.  With  difficulty  the 
clothes  were  stripped  from  the  poor  marble  corpse,  my 
companion  made  the  examination,  and  as  a  notary  pub- 
lic I  swore  him  to  a  report  for  the  nearest  United  States 
commissioner.  This  would  furnish  legal  proof  of  death 
were  it  ever  required;  otherwise,  since  there  is  no  pro- 
vision for  the  travelling  expenses  of  coroners,  and  the 
nearest  was  one  hundred  and  forty  or  one  hundred  and 
fifty  miles  away,  there  would  have  been  no  inquest  and 
no  such  proof. 

The  man  had  delayed  his  return  to  Bettles  too  long. 
When  his  food  was  exhausted  and  he  had  to  go,  there 
came  on  that  terrible  cold  spell.  A  little  memorandum- 
book  in  his  pocket  told  the  pitiful  story.  Day  by  day 
he  lingered  hoping  for  a  change,  and  day  by  day  there 
was  entry  of  the  awful  cold.  He  had  no  thermometer, 
but  he  knew  the  temperature  was  — 50°  or  lower  by  the 
cracking  noise  that  his  breath  made — the  old-timer's  test. 
At  last  the  grub  was  all  gone  and  he  must  go  or  starve. 
The  final  entry  read:  "All  aboard  tomorrow,  hope  to 
God  I  get  there."  The  Indians  estimated  that  he  had 
been  walking  two  days,  and  had  "siwashed  it"  at  night 


A  WILDERNESS  TRAGEDY  67 

somewhere  beside  a  fire  in  the  open  without  bedding. 
Holes  were  burned  in  his  breeches  in  two  places,  where, 
doubtless,  he  had  got  too  near  the  fire.  He  had  nothing 
whatever  to  eat  with  him  save  a  piece  of  bacon  gnawed 
to  the  rind.  There  were  only  two  matches  in  his  pocket, 
and  they  were  mixed  up  with  trash  of  birch-bark  and  to- 
bacco, so  it  is  likely  he  did  not  know  he  had  them.  He 
had  lit  all  the  fires  he  could  light  and  eaten  all  the  food 
he  had  to  eat.  Still  he  was  plugging  along  towards  the 
native  village  nine  miles  away.  Then  he  lost  the  trail, 
probably  in  the  dark,  for  it  was  faint  and  much  drifted, 
and  had  taken  off  his  snow-shoes  to  feel  with  his  mocca- 
sined  feet  for  the  hardened  snow  that  would  indicate  it. 
That  was  almost  the  end.  He  had  gone  across  the  river 
and  back  again,  feeling  for  the  trail,  and  then,  with 
the  deadly  numbness  already  upon  his  brain,  had  wan- 
dered in  a  circle.  The  date  of  his  starting  in  the  memo- 
randum-book and  the  distance  travelled  made  it  almost 
certain  that,  at  some  moment  between  the  time  when 
those  three  moons  floated  in  the  sky  and  the  time  when 
that  cross  glared  on  the  horizon,  he  had  fallen  in  the 
snow,  never  to  rise  again.  Fifty-eight  below  zero  and  a 
wind  blowing! 

One  supposes  that  the  actual  death  by  freezing  is 
painless,  as  it  is  certainly  slow  and  gradual.  The  only 
instance  of  sudden  gelation  I  ever  heard  of  is  in  Long- 
fellow's "Wreck  of  the  Hesperus,"  where  the  skipper, 
having  answered  one  question,  upon  being  asked  another, 

"Answered  never  a  word, 
For  a  frozen  corpse  was  he." 


68    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

But  if  the  actual  death  be  painless,  the  long  conscious 
fight  against  it  must  be  an  agony;  for  a  man  of  any 
experience  must  realise  the  peril  he  is  in.  The  tingling 
in  fingers  and  toes  and  then  in  knees  and  elbows  is  a 
warning  he  recognises  only  too  well.  He  knows  that, 
unless  he  can  restore  warmth  by  restoring  the  circula- 
tion, he  is  as  good  as  frozen  already.  He  increases  his 
pace  and  beats  his  arms  against  his  breast.  But  if  his 
vitality  be  too  much  reduced  by  hunger  and  fatigue  and 
cold  to  make  more  than  a  slight  response  to  the  stimu- 
lation, if  the  distance  to  warmth  and  shelter  be  too 
great  for  a  spurt  to  carry  him  there,  he  is  soon  in  worse 
case  than  before.  Then  the  appalling  prospect  of  per- 
ishing by  the  cold  must  rise  nakedly  before  him.  The 
enemy  is  in  the  breach,  swarming  over  the  ramparts, 
advancing  to  the  heart  of  the  fortress,  not  to  be  again  re- 
pelled. He  becomes  aware  that  his  hands  and  feet  are 
already  frozen,  and  presently  there  may  be  a  momentary 
terrible  recognition  that  his  wits  begin  to  wander.  Fran- 
tically he  stumbles  on,  thrashing  his  body  with  his  arms, 
forcing  his  gait  to  the  uttermost,  a  prey  to  the  terror 
that  hangs  over  him,  until  his  growing  horror  and  de- 
spair are  mercifully  swallowed  up  in  the  somnolent  tor- 
pidity that  overwhelms  him.  All  of  us  who  have  travelled 
in  cold  weather  know  how  uneasy  and  apprehensive  a 
man  becomes  when  the  fingers  grow  obstinately  cold  and 
he  realises  that  he  is  not  succeeding  in  getting  them 
warm  again.     It  is  the  beginning  of  death  by  freezing. 

We  buried  the  body  on  a  bench  of  the  bluff  across 
the  river  from  the  native  village,  the  natives  all  standing 


NEGLECTED  NATIVES  69 

around  reverently  while  the  words  of  committal  were 
said,  and  set  up  a  cross  marked  with  lead-pencil:  *'R. 
I.  P. — Eric  Ericson,  found  frozen,  January,  1906."  Two 
or  three  years  later  a  friend  sent  me  a  small  bronze  tab- 
let with  the  same  legend,  and  that  was  affixed  to  the 
cross.  There  are  many  such  lonely  graves  in  Alaska, 
for  scarce  a  winter  passes  that  does  not  claim  its  victims 
in  every  section  of  the  country.  That  same  winter  we 
heard  of  two  men  frozen  on  the  Seward  Peninsula,  two 
on  the  Yukon,  one  on  the  Tanana,  and  one  on  the  Val- 
dez  trail.  This  day  I  recorded  a  temperature  of  10°, 
the  first  plus  temperature  in  thirty-nine  days,  and  that 
previous  rise  above  zero  was  the  first  in  twenty  days. 

That  night  we  gathered  all  the  natives,  and  after 
long  speech  with  poor  interpretation  I  ventured  to  prom- 
ise them  a  mission  the  next  year.  Some  of  them  had 
been  across  to  the  Yukon  years  before  and  had  visited 
the  mission  at  Tanana.  Some  had  been  baptized  there. 
Some  had  never  seen  a  clergyman  or  missionary  of  any 
sort  before,  and  had  never  heard  the  gospel  preached. 
We  were  touched  by  one  old  blind  woman  who  told  of 
a  visit  to  a  mission  on  the  Yukon,  and  how  she  learned 
to  sing  a  hymn  there.  Her  son  interpreted:  "She  say 
every  night  she  sing  that  hymn  for  speak  to  God."  She 
was  encouraged  to  sing  it,  and  it  turned  out  to  be  the 
alphabet  set  to  a  tune!  After  much  pleading  and  with 
some  hesitation,  I  baptized  seventeen  children,  comfort- 
ing myself  with  the  assurance  of  the  coming  mission, 
which  would  undertake  their  Christian  training  and  in- 
struction. 


70    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

Back  next  day  at  the  mouth  of  the  Alatna,  I  was 
again  impressed  with  the  ehgibihty  of  that  spot  as  a 
mission  site.  It  was  but  ten  miles  above  the  present 
native  village,  and,  with  church  and  school  established, 
the  whole  population  would  sooner  or  later  move  to  it. 
This  gives  opportunity  for  regulating  the  building  of 
cabins,  and  the  advantage  of  a  new,  clean  start.  More- 
over, the  Alatna  River  is  the  highway  between  the  Kobuk 
and  the  Koyukuk,  and  the  Esquimaux  coming  over  in  in- 
creasing numbers,  would  be  served  by  a  mission  at  this 
place  as  well  as  the  Indians.  I  foresaw  two  villages, 
perhaps,  on  the  opposite  sides  of  the  river — one  clustered 
about  the  church  and  the  school,  the  other  a  little  lower 
down — where  these  ancient  hereditary  enemies  might  live 
side  by  side  in  peace  and  harmony  under  the  firm  yet 
gentle  influence  of  the  church.  So  I  staked  a  mission 
site,  and  set  up  notices  claiming  ground  for  that  pur- 
pose, almost  opposite  the  mouth  of  the  Alatna,  which,  in 
the  native  tongue,  is  Allakaket  or  Allachaket. 

There  was  some  trail  up  the  Alatna  and  we  made  fair 
headway  on  its  surface,  stopping  two  nights  at  Kobuk 
huts.  We  are  out  of  the  Indian  country  now,  and  shall 
see  no  more  Indians  until  we  are  back  on  the  Yukon. 
The  mode  of  life,  the  habits,  the  character  of  the  races 
are  very  different — the  first  Esquimau  habitation  we  vis- 
ited proclaiming  it.  These  inland  Esquimaux,  though 
some  of  the  younger  ones  have  never  seen  salt  water — our 
guide,  Roxy,  for  one — are  still  essentially  a  salt-water 
people.  Their  huts,  even  in  the  midst  of  trees,  are  half- 
underground  affairs,  for  they  have  not  learned  log-build- 


THE  INLAND   ESQUIMAUX  71 

ing;  the  windows  are  of  seal  gut,  and  seal  oil  is  a  staple 
article  of  their  diet.  Their  clothing  is  also  marine,  their 
parkees  of  the  hair-seal  and  their  mukluks  of  the  giant 
seal.  Communications  are  always  kept  up  with  the 
coast,  and  the  sea  products  required  are  brought  across. 
The  time  for  the  movement  of  the  Kobuks  back  and  forth 
was  not  quite  yet,  though  we  hoped  we  should  meet 
some  parties  and  get  the  benefit  of  their  trail.  Just 
before  we  left  the  Alatna  River  we  stopped  at  Roxy's 
fish  cache  and  got  some  green  fish,  hewing  them  out  of 
the  frozen  mass  with  the  axe.  The  young  man  had 
fished  here  the  previous  summer,  had  cached  the  fish 
caught  too  late  to  dry  in  the  sun,  and  they  had  remained 
where  he  left  them  for  four  or  five  months.  Most  of 
them  had  begun  to  decay  before  they  froze,  but  that  did 
not  impair  their  value  as  dog  food,  though  it  rendered 
the  cooking  of  them  a  disagreeable  proceeding  to  white 
nostrils.  This  caching  of  food  is  a  common  thing  amongst 
both  natives  and  whites,  and  it  is  rarely  that  a  cache 
is  violated  except  under  great  stress  of  hunger,  when 
violation  is  recognised  as  legitimate.  Doughty,  in  his 
Arabia  Deserta,  mentions  the  same  custom  amongst  the 
Arabs;  Sven  Hedin  amongst  the  Tartars.  Sparsely  peo- 
pled waste  countries  have  much  the  same  customs  all  over 
the  world.  Even  the  outer  garb  in  the  Oriental  deserts 
has  much  resemblance  to  our  parkee;  both  burnoose  and 
parkee  are  primarily  windbreaks,  and  it  makes  little  dif- 
ference whether  the  wind  be  charged  with  snow  or  sand. 
At  midday  on  the  3d  of  February  we  left  the  Alatna 
River  and  took  our  way  across  country  for  the  Kobuk. 


72    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

We  had  now  no  trail  at  all  save  what  had  been  made 
a  couple  of  months  before  by  the  only  other  party  that 
had  crossed  the  portage  this  winter,  and  it  was  buried 
under  fifteen  or  sixteen  inches  of  snow.  There  was  quite 
a  grade  to  be  climbed  to  reach  the  plateau  over  which 
our  course  lay,  and  the  men,  with  rope  over  the  shoulder, 
had  to  help  the  dogs  hauling  at  the  sled.  Indeed,  over 
a  good  deal  of  this  portage,  from  time  to  time,  the 
men  had  to  do  dog  work,  for  the  country  is  rolling,  one 
ridge  succeeding  another,  and  the  loose,  deep  snow  made 
heavy  and  slow  going.  One  man  must  go  ahead  break- 
ing trail,  and  that  was  generally  my  task,  though  when 
the  route  grew  doubtful  and  the  indications  too  faint 
for  white  man's  eye,  Roxy  took  my  place  and  I  took  his 
gee  pole,  and  slipped  his  rope  around  my  chest. 

Breaking  trail  would  not  be  so  laborious  if  one 
could  wear  the  large  snow-shoes  that  are  used  for  hunt- 
ing. But  the  hunting  shoe,  though  it  carries  the  man 
without  fatigue,  does  not  help  the  dogs.  The  small 
shoe  known  as  the  trail  shoe,  packs  the  snow  beneath 
it,  and  by  the  time  the  trail  breaker  has  gone  forward, 
then  back  again,  and  then  forward  once  more,  the  snow 
is  usually  packed  hard  enough  to  give  the  dogs  some  foot- 
ing. Footing  the  dog  must  have  or  he  cannot  pull;  a 
dog  wallowing  in  snow  to  his  belly  cannot  exert  much 
traction  on  the  vehicle  behind  him.  The  notion  of  snow- 
shoeing  as  a  sport  always  seems  strange  to  us  on  the 
trail,  for  to  us  it  is  a  laborious  necessity  and  no  sport 
at  all.  The  trail  breaker  thus  goes  over  most  of  the 
ground  thrice,  and  when  he  is  anxious  at  the  same  time 


THE  SUNRISE  AND  THE  MOUNTAINS        73 

to  get  a  fairly  accurate  estimate  by  the  pedometer  of 
the  distance  travelled,  he  must  constantly  remember  to 
upend  the  Instrument  In  his  pocket  when  he  retraces 
his  steps,  and  restore  It  to  Its  recording  position  when  he 
attacks  unbroken  snow  again.  Also  he  must  take  him- 
self unawares,  so  to  speak,  from  time  to  time,  and  check 
the  length  of  his  stride  with  the  tape  measure  and  alter 
the  step  Index  as  the  varying  surfaces  passed  over  re- 
quire. Conscientiously  used,  with  due  regard  to  Its 
limitations,  the  pedometer  will  give  a  fair  approximation 
of  the  length  of  a  journey,  but  a  man  can  no  more  tell 
how  far  he  has  gone  by  merely  hanging  a  pedometer  In 
his  pocket  than  he  can  tell  the  height  above  sea-level  of 
an  Inland  mountain  by  merely  carrying  an  aneroid  ba- 
rometer to  the  top. 

It  was  on  this  Alatna-Kobuk  portage  that  we  saw 
the  most  magnificent  sunrise  any  of  us  could  remember. 
It  had  been  cloudy  for  some  days  with  threat  of  snow 
which  did  not  fall.  We  were  camped  In  a  little  hollow 
between  two  ridges,  and  I  had  been  busy  packing  up  the 
stuff  In  the  tent  preparatory  to  the  start,  when  I  stepped 
out  with  a  load  of  bedding  In  my  arms,  right  Into  the 
midst  of  the  spectacle.  It  was  simple,  as  the  greatest 
things  are  always  simple,  but  so  gorgeous  and  splen- 
did that  it  was  startling.  The  whole  southeastern  sky 
was  filled  with  great  luminous  bands  of  alternate  purple 
and  crimson.  At  the  horizon  the  bands  were  deeper  In 
tone  and  as  they  rose  they  grew  lighter,  but  they  main- 
tained an  unmixed  purity  of  contrasting  colour  through- 
out.    I  gazed  at  It  until  the  tent  was  struck  and  the  dogs 


74    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

hitched  and  it  was  time  to  start,  and  then  I  had  to  turn 
my  back  upon  it,  for  our  course  lay  due  west,  and  I  was 
breaking  trail.  But  on  the  crest  of  the  rising  ground 
ahead  there  burst  upon  my  delighted  eyes  a  still  more 
astonishing  prospect.  We  were  come  to  the  first  near 
view  of  the  Kobuk  mountains,  and  the  reflected  light  of 
that  gorgeous  sunrise  was  caught  by  the  flanks  of  a 
group  of  wild  and  lofty  snow  peaks,  and  they  stood  up 
incandescent,  with  a  vivid  colour  that  seemed  to  come 
through  them  as  well  as  from  them.  To  right  and  left, 
mountains  out  of  the  direct  path  of  that  light  gave  a 
soft  dead  mauve,  but  these  favoured  peaks,  bathed  from 
base  to  summit  in  clear  crimson  effulgence,  glowed  like 
molten  metal.  It  was  not  the  reflected  light  of  the  sun, 
but  of  the  flaming  sky,  for  even  as  I  looked,  a  swift 
change  came  over  them.  They  passed  through  the  tones 
of  red  to  lightest  pink,  not  fading  but  brightening,  and 
before  my  companions  reached  me  the  sun's  rays  sprang 
upon  the  mountains  from  the  horizon,  and  they  were 
golden. 

It  seems  almost  foolish  to  the  writer  and  may  well 
seem  tedious  to  the  reader,  to  attempt  in  words  the  de- 
scription of  such  scenes;  yet  so  deep  is  the  impression 
they  produce,  and  so  large  the  place  they  take  in  the 
memory,  that  to  omit  them  would  be  to  strike  out  much 
of  the  charm  and  zest  of  these  arctic  journeys.  Again 
and  again  in  the  years  that  have  passed,  the  recollection 
of  that  pomp  of  colour  on  the  way  to  the  Kobuk  has 
come  suddenly  upon  me,  and  always  with  a  bounding  of 
the  spirit.     I  can  shut  my  eyes  now  and  see  that  in- 


TRAVELLING  KOBUK  LADS  75 

comparable  sunrise ;  I  can  see  again  that  vision  of  moun- 
tains filling  half  the  sky  with  their  unimaginable  ardency, 
and  I  think  that  this  world  never  presented  nobler  sight. 
Surely  for  its  pageantry  of  burning,  living  colour,  for  purity 
and  depth  and  intensity  of  tint,  the  Far  North  with  its 
setting  of  snow  surpasses  all  other  regions  of  the  earth. 
That  same  day  we  met  a  couple  of  Kobuk  youths  on 
their  way  to  the  Koyukuk,  and  they  gave  us  the  great- 
est gift  it  was  in  the  power  of  man  to  give  us — a  trail! 
There  is  no  finer  illustration  of  the  mutual  service  of 
man  to  man  than  the  meeting  of  parties  going  opposite 
ways  across  the  unbroken  snows.  Each  is  at  once  con- 
ferring and  receiving  the  greatest  of  favours,  without 
loss  to  himself  is  heaping  benefit  on  the  other;  is,  it 
may  be — has  often  been — saving  the  other,  and  being 
himself  saved.  No  more  hunting  and  peering  for  blazes, 
no  more  casting  about  hither  and  thither  when  open 
stretches  are  crossed ;  no  more  three  times  back  and  forth 
to  beat  the  snow  down — twenty  miles  a  day  instead  of 
ten  or  twelve — the  boys'  trail  meant  all  that  to  us.  And 
our  trail  meant  almost  as  much  to  them.  So  we  were 
rejoiced  to  see  them,  sturdy  youths  of  sixteen  or  seven- 
teen, making  the  journey  all  by  themselves.  My  heart 
goes  out  to  these  adventurous  Kobuks,  amiable,  light- 
hearted,  industrious;  keen  hunters,  following  the  moun- 
tain-sheep far  up  where  the  Indian  will  not  go;  adepts 
in  all  the  wilderness  arts;  heirs  of  the  uncharted  arctic 
wastes,  and  occupying  their  heritage.  If  I  were  not  a 
white  man  I  would  far  rather  be  one  of  these  nomadic 
inland  Esquimaux  than  any  other  native  I  know  of. 


76    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

That  same  day  we  crossed  two  headwater  forks  of 
the  Kokochatna,  as  the  Kobuks  call  it,  or  the  Hogat- 
zitna  as  the  Koyukuks  call  it,  or  the  Hog  River,  as  the 
white  men  call  it,  a  tributary  of  the  Koyukuk  that  comes 
in  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  below  the  Alatna. 
As  we  came  down  a  steep  descent  to  the  little  east  fork, 
it  showed  so  picturesque  and  attractive,  with  clumps  of 
fine  open  timber  on  an  island,  that  it  remains  in  my 
mind  one  of  the  many  places  from  the  Grand  Canon 
of  the  Colorado  almost  to  the  Grand  Canon  of  the 
Noatak,  where  I  should  like  to  have  a  lodge  in  the  vast 
wilderness. 

We  had  but  crossed  the  west  fork  when  we  knew  that 
we  were  close  to  the  watershed  between  the  Kobuk  and 
the  Koyukuk,  between  the  streams  that  fall  into  Kotze- 
bue  Sound  and  those  that  fall  by  the  Koyukuk  and  the 
Yukon  Rivers  into  Bering  Sea;  and  because  it  seemed  a 
capital  geographic  feature,  it  was  disappointing  that  it 
was  so  inconspicuous.  Indeed,  we  were  not  sure  which 
of  two  ridges  was  the  actual  divide.  Beyond  those  ridges 
there  was  no  question,  for  the  ground  sloped  down  to 
Lake  Noyutak,  a  body  of  water  some  three  and  a  half 
miles  in  length  and  of  varying  breadth  that  drains  into 
the  Kobuk.  Here  in  a  cabin  we  found  three  more  young 
Kobuks,  and  spent  the  night,  getting  our  first  view  of 
the  Kobuk  River  next  day,  not  from  an  eminence,  as  I 
had  hoped,  but  only  as  we  came  down  a  bank  through 
thick  timber  and  opened  suddenly  upon  it.  By  the  pe- 
dometer I  made  the  portage  forty-six  miles. 

The  upper  Kobuk  is  a  picturesque  river,  the  timber 


THE   KOBUK   RIVER  ^-j 

being  especially  large  and  handsome  for  interior  Alaska. 
We  reached  it  just  above  the  mouth  of  the  Reed  River, 
tributary  from  the  north.  The  weather  was  warm — too 
warm  for  good  travelling — the  thermometer  standing  at 
15°,  20°,  and  one  day  even  30°  above  zero  all  day  long, 
so  that  we  were  all  bareheaded  and  in  our  shirt-sleeves. 
From  time  to  time,  as  the  course  of  the  river  varied,  we 
had  distant  views  of  the  rocky  mountains  of  the  Endi- 
cott  Range,  or,  as  it  might  be  written,  the  Endicott 
Range  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  for  such,  in  fact,  it  is — 
the  western  and  final  extension  of  the  great  American 
Cordillera.  On  the  other  side  of  those  mountains  was 
the  Noatak  River,  flowing  roughly  parallel  with  the 
Kobuk,  and  discharging  into  the  same  arm  of  the  sea. 

The  division  of  the  labour  of  camping  amongst  four 
gave  us  all  some  leisure  at  night,  and  I  found  time  to 
read  through  again  The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth  and 
Westward  Ho!  with  much  pleasure,  quite  agreeing  with 
Sir  Walter  Besant's  judgment  that  the  former  is  one  of 
the  best  historical  novels  ever  written.  There  are  few 
more  attractive  roysterers  in  literature  to  me  than  Denys 
of  Bergundy,  with  his  "  Courage,  camarades,  le  diable  est 
morW  This  matter  of  winter  reading  is  a  difficult  one, 
because  it  is  impossible  to  carry  many  books.  My  plan 
is  to  take  two  or  three  India-paper  volumes  of  classics 
that  have  been  read  before,  and  renew  my  acquaintance 
with  them.  But  reading  by  the  light  of  one  candle, 
though  it  sufficed  our  forefathers,  is  hard  on  our  degen- 
erate eyes. 

The  days  were  much  lengthened  now,  and  the  worst 


78    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

of  the  winter  was  done.  There  would  still  be  cold  and 
storm,  but  hardly  again  of  the  same  intensity  and  dura- 
tion. When  the  traveller  gets  well  into  February  he 
feels  that  the  back  of  the  winter  is  broken,  for  nothing 
can  take  from  him  the  advantage  of  the  ever-lengthen- 
ing days,  the  ever-climbing  sun. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  third  day  on  the  Kobuk  we 
reached  a  cabin  occupied  by  two  white  men,  the  first 
we  had  seen  since  we  left  Bettles,  and  we  were  the  first 
white  men  they  had  seen  all  the  winter.  They  were 
waiting  for  the  spring,  having  a  prospecting  trip  in  view; 
simply  spending  the  winter  eating  up  their  grub.  There 
was  nothing  whatever  to  read  in  the  cabin,  and  they 
had  been  there  since  the  freeze-up!  They  welcomed  us, 
and  we  stayed  overnight  with  them,  and  that  night  there 
was  a  total  eclipse  of  the  moon,  of  which  we  had  a  fine 
view.  We  had  an  almanac  which  gave  the  time  of  to- 
tality at  Sitka,  and  we  knew  the  approximate  longitude 
of  our  position,  so  we  were  able  to  set  our  watches  by  it. 

The  next  two  days  are  noted  in  my  diary  as  two  of 
the  pleasantest  days  of  the  whole  journey — two  of  the 
pleasantest  days  I  ever  spent  anywhere,  I  think.  A 
clear,  cloudless  sky,  brilliant  sunshine,  white  mountain 
peaks  all  about  us,  gave  picture  after  picture,  and  the 
warm,  balmy  air  made  travelling  a  delight.  There  are 
few  greater  pleasures  than  that  of  penetrating  into  a  new 
country,  with  continually  changing  views  of  beauty,  under 
kindly  conditions  of  weather  and  trail.  In  the  yellow 
rays  of  the  early  sun,  the  spruce  on  the  river  bank  looked 
like  a  screen  of  carved  bronze,  while  the  slender  stems  of 


THE  MISSION  79 

birches  in  front  of  the  spruce  looked  like  an  inlaying  of 
old  ivory  upon  the  bronze,  the  whole  set  upon  its  pedestal 
of  marble-like  snow.  The  second  day  we  took  a  portage 
of  nine  or  ten  miles  across  a  barren  flat  and  struck  the 
river  again  just  below  a  remarkable  stretch  of  bank  a 
mile  or  so  in  length,  with  never  a  tree  or  a  bush  or  so 
much  as  the  smallest  shrub  growing  on  it.  Thick  timber 
above  suddenly  ceased,  thick  timber  below  suddenly 
began  again,  and  this  bare  bank  reached  back  through 
open,  barren  flat  to  a  low  pass  in  the  mountains.  It  was 
a  bank  of  solid  ice,  so  we  were  told  later,  and  I  remem- 
bered to  have  heard  of  ice  blufl^s  on  the  Kobuk,  and  wished 
that  the  portage  had  struck  the  river  above  this  spot 
instead  of  below  it,  that  there  might  have  been  oppor- 
tunity to  examine  it. 

A  little  farther  down  the  river  and  we  were  at  the 
new  mission  of  the  Society  of  Friends,  where  a  cordial  re- 
ception awaited  us  and,  luxury  of  luxuries,  a  warm  bath! 
Again  and  again  the  wash-tub  was  emptied  and  fresh 
water  was  heated  until  we  all  had  wallowed  to  our  heart's 
content.  The  rude  log  buildings  of  the  mission  had 
been  begun  the  previous  fall,  and  were  not  yet  complete, 
but  they  were  advanced  enough  for  occupation,  and  the 
work  of  the  mission  went  actively  on.  It  was  in  charge 
of  rather  an  extraordinary  man.  He  gave  us  a  sketch 
of  his  life,  which  was  full  of  interest  and  matter  for 
thought.  For  many  years  he  was  a  police  officer  and 
jailer  in  the  West.  Then  he  sailed  on  a  whaler  and  thus 
became  acquainted  with  the  Esquimaux.  He  was  con- 
verted  from   a   life   of  drunkenness   and   debauchery — 


8o    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

though  one  fancied  his  character  was  not  really  ever  so 
bad  as  he  painted  it — at  a  "Peniel"  mission  in  a  Cal- 
ifomian  town.  He  went  in  out  of  mere  idle  curiosity, 
just  recovered  from  a  spree,  and  was  so  wrought  upon 
that  when  he  came  out  he  was  a  different  creature,  a 
new  man,  the  old  life  with  its  appetite  for  vicious  indul- 
gence sloughed  off  and  left  behind  him,  and  he  now 
possessed  with  a  burning  desire  to  do  some  such  active 
service  for  God  as  aforetime  he  had  done  for  the  devil. 
After  three  or  four  months  of  some  sort  of  training  in 
an  institution  maintained  by  the  California  Society  of 
Friends — a  body  more  like  the  Salvation  Army,  one 
judges,  than  the  old  Quakers — he  volunteered  for  ser- 
vice at  a  branch  which  the  old-established  mission  of 
the  Society  at  the  mouth  of  the  Kobuk  desired  to  plant 
two  hundred  miles  or  so  up  the  river,  and  had  come  out 
and  had  plunged  at  once  into  his  task.  So  here  he  was, 
some  six  or  seven  months  installed,  teacher,  preacher, 
trader  in  a  small  way,  and  indefatigable  worker  in  gen- 
eral. Pedagogical  training  or  knowledge  of  "methods" 
he  had  none  at  all,  but  the  root  of  the  matter  was  in  him, 
and  surely  never  was  such  an  insatiable  school-teacher. 
Morning,  noon,  and  night  he  was  teaching.  While  he 
was  cooking  he  was  hearing  lessons;  while  he  was  wash- 
ing the  dishes  and  cleaning  the  house  he  was  correcting 
exercises  in  simple  addition.  In  the  schoolroom  he  was 
full  of  a  genial  enthusiasm  that  seemed  to  impart  instruc- 
tion by  sheer  dynamic  force.  "Boot,"  the  lesson  book 
said.  There  was  no  boot  in  the  schoolroom,  all  were 
shod    in    mukluks.     He    dives    into   his   dwelling-house 


ENGLISH  AND   ESQUIMAU  8i 

attachment  and  comes  back  holding  up  a  boot.  "  Boot," 
he  says,  and  "boot"  they  all  repeat.  Presently  the 
word  "tooth"  was  introduced  in  the  lesson.  With- 
drawing a  loose  artificial  tooth  of  the  "pivot"  variety 
from  his  upper  jaw,  he  holds  it  aloft  and  "tooth!"  he 
cries  out,  and  "toot!"  they  all  cry,  and  he  claps  it  back 
into  his  head  again. 

We  were  present  on  Sunday  at  the  services.  There 
was  hearty  singing  of  "Pentecostal"  hymns  with  catchy 
refrains,  but  we  were  compelled  to  notice  again  what 
we  had  noticed  amongst  the  little  bands  of  these  people 
on  the  Koyukuk  when  we  set  them  to  singing,  that  the 
English  was  unintelligible;  and  since  it  conveyed  no 
meaning  to  us  could  have  had  little  for  them.  This  is 
the  inevitable  result  of  ignoring  the  native  tongue  and 
adopting  the  easy  expedient  of  teaching  the  singing  of 
hymns  and  the  recitation  of  formulas  like  the  command- 
ments in  English.  For  a  generation  or  two,  at  least,  the 
English  learned,  save  by  children  at  a  boarding-school, 
where  nothing  but  English  is  spoken,  is  fragmentary 
and  of  doubtful  import  in  all  except  the  commonest  mat- 
ters of  speech.  And  at  such  boarding-schools  there  is 
danger  of  the  real  misfortune  and  drawback  of  natives 
growing  up  to  live  their  lives  amongst  natives,  ignorant 
of  the  native  tongue.  There  is  no  quick  and  easy  way 
of  stamping  out  a  language,  thank  God;  there  is  no  quick 
and  easy  way  of  imparting  instruction  in  a  foreign  lan- 
guage. By  and  by  all  the  Alaskan  natives  will  be  more 
or  less  bilingual,  but  the  intimate  speech  and  the  most 
clearly  understood  speech  will  still  be  the  mother  tongue. 


82    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

The  singing  done,  there  was  preaching  through  an  inter- 
preter, and  then  each  individual  present  "gave  testi- 
mony," which  consisted  for  the  most  part  in  the  recita- 
tion of  a  text  of  Scripture.  Then  there  were  individual 
prayers  by  one  and  another  of  the  congregation,  and 
then  some  more  singing.  The  only  hymn  I  could  find 
in  the  book  that  I  knew  was  the  fine  old  hymn,  "How 
Firm  a  Foundation,"  and  that  was  sung  heartily  to  the 
"Adeste  Fideles."  They  are  naturally  a  musical  race, 
picking  up  airs  with  great  facility,  and  they  thoroughly 
enjoy  singing. 

After  the  service  the  missionary  confided  some  of 
his  troubles  to  me.  He  had  lately  learned  through  his 
interpreter  that  the  burden  of  most  of  the  individual 
prayers  was  that  the  supplicator  might  "catch  plenty 
skins"  and  be  more  successful  in  hunting  than  his  fel- 
lows; and  though  he  had  done  his  best  to  impress  upon 
them  the  superior  importance  of  making  request  for  spir- 
itual benefit,  he  was  afraid  they  had  made  no  change. 
"Our  people  'outside,'"  he  said,  "don't  understand  these 
folk,  and  I'm  not  sure  that  I  thoroughly  understand 
them  myself."  "They're  all  *  converted,'"  he  said; 
"they  all  claim  to  have  experienced  a  change  of  heart, 
but  some  of  them  I  know  are  not  living  like  converted 
people,  and  sometimes  I  have  my  doubts  about  most  of 
them."  My  sympathy  went  out  to  him  in  his  loneli- 
ness and  his  earnestness  and  his  disappointments.  I 
pointed  out  that  the  emotional  response  to  emotional 
preaching  was  comparatively  easy  to  get  from  any  prim- 
itive people,  but  that  to  change  their  whole  lives,  to 


THE  "DOUBLE  STANDARD"  83 

uproot  old  customs  of  sensual  indulgence,  to  engraft 
new  ideas  of  virtue  and  chastity  was  a  long,  slow  proc- 
ess anywhere  in  the  world.  It  was  chiefly  in  the  mat- 
ter of  sexual  morality  that  his  doubts  and  difficulties 
lay,  and  I  was  able  to  assure  him  that  his  experience  was 
but  the  common  experience  of  all  those  who  had  laboured 
for  the  uplifting  of  savage  people.  Indeed,  how  should 
it  be  otherwise.?  Until  quite  lately  there  was  almost 
promiscuous  use  of  women.  A  man  receiving  a  traveller 
in  his  dwelling  overnight  proffered  his  wife  as  a  part  of 
his  hospitality;  the  temporary  interchange  of  wives  was 
common;  young  men  and  young  women  gratified  them- 
selves without  rebuke;  children  were  valuable  however 
come  by,  and  there  was  no  special  distinction  between 
legitimate  and  illegitimate  offspring.  As  one  reflects 
on  these  conditions  and  then  looks  back  upon  condi- 
tions amongst  white  people,  it  would  seem  that  all  the 
civilised  races  have  done  is  to  set  up  a  double  stand- 
ard of  sexual  morality  as  against  the  single  standard  of 
the  savage.  It  can  hardly  be  claimed  that  the  average 
white  man  is  continent,  or  even  much  more  continent 
than  the  average  Esquimau,  but  he  has  forced  con- 
tinence upon  the  greater  part  of  his  women,  reserving 
a  dishonoured  remnant  for  his  own  irresponsible  use. 
And  there  are  signs  that  some  of  those  who  nowadays 
inveigh  against  the  white  man's  double  standard  are  in 
reality  desirous  of  substituting,  not  the  single  standard 
of  the  Christian  ideal,  but  the  single  standard  of  the 
savage.  In  the  mining  camps  the  prostitute  has  a  sort 
of  half-way-recognised  social  position,  and  in  polite  par- 


84    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

lance  is  referred  to  as  a  "sporting  lady" — surely  the 
most  horribly  incongruous  phrase  ever  coined;  she 
often  marries  a  miner  who  will  tell  you  that  she  is  as  good 
as  he  is,  and  she  is  received  afterwards  by  all  but  a  few 
as  a  *' respectable  married  woman." 

There  had  been  some  trouble  of  this  sort  at  this  mis- 
sion. The  great  northern  gold  seekers'  wave  of  '97  and 
'98  threw  a  numerous  band  of  prospectors  up  the  Kobuk 
as  well  as  up  the  Koyukuk.  The  wave  had  receded  and 
left  on  the  Kobuk  but  one  little  pool  behind  it,  a  handful 
of  men  who  found  something  better  than  "pay"  on  the 
Shungnak,  a  few  miles  away.  And  there  was  much 
criticism  of  the  missionary's  methods  amongst  them. 
Word  of  the  arrival  of  strangers  had  brought  some  of 
them  to  Long  Beach,  and  on  Sunday  night  I  had  oppor- 
tunity of  addressing  them,  with  a  view  to  enlisting  their 
sympathy,  if  possible.  What  if  mistakes  were  made, 
what  if  some  of  the  methods  employed  were  open  to  ques- 
tion.? Here  was  a  man  who  beyond  doubt  was  earnestly 
labouring  in  the  best  way  he  knew  for  the  improvement 
of  these  natives.  Such  an  effort  demanded  the  co-op- 
eration of  every  right-feeling  man. 

After  all,  however  grand  the  physical  scenery,  the 
meteorological  phenomena,  may  be,  the  people  of  any 
country  are  the  most  interesting  thing  in  it,  and  we 
found  these  Esquimaux  extraordinarily  interesting.  Dirty 
they  certainly  are;  it  is  almost  impossible  for  dwellers 
in  the  arctic  regions  to  be  clean  in  the  winter,  and  the 
winter  lasts  so  long  that  the  habit  of  winter  becomes  the 
habit  of  the  year.     White  and  native   alike   accept   a 


PERSONAL  CLEANLINESS  85 

lower  standard  of  personal  cleanliness  than  Is  tolerated 
outside.     I  remember  asking  Bishop  Rowe,  before  I  came 
to  Alaska:  "What  do  you  do  about  bathing  when  you 
travel  in  the  winter?"     To  which  he  replied  laconically: 
"Do  without."     It  is  even  so;  travellers  on  the  Alaskan 
trails  as  well  as  natives  belong  to  the  "great  unwashed." 
In  the  very  cold  weather  the  procuring  of  water  in  any 
quantity  is  a  very  difficult  thing  even  for  house  dwellers. 
Every  drop  of  it  has  to  be  carried  from  a  water-hole  cut 
far  out  on  the  ice,  up  a  steep  grade,  and  then  quite  a 
little  distance  back  to  the  dwelling — for  we  do  not  build 
directly  upon  these  eroding  banks.     The  water-hole  is 
continually  freezing  up  and  has  to  be  continually  hewed 
free  of  ice,  and  as  the  streams  dwindle  with  the  progress 
of  winter,  new  holes  must  be  cut  farther  and  farther  out. 
On  the  trail,  where  snow  must  usually  be  melted  for  water, 
it  is  obvious  that  bathing  is  out  of  the  question;  even  the 
water  for  hands  and  face  is  sparingly  doled  by  the  cook, 
and  two  people  will  sometimes  use  the  same  water  rather 
than  resort  to  the  painful  though  efficient  expedient  of 
washing  with  snow.     If  this  be  so  despite  aluminum  pots 
and  a  full  kit  of  camp  vessels,  it  is  much  more  so  with  the 
native,  whose  supply  of  pots  and  pans  is  very  limited. 
I  have  seen  a  white  man  melt  snow  in  a  frying-pan,  wash 
hands  and  face  in  it,  throw  it  out,  fry  bacon  and  beans 
in  it,  then  melt  more  snow  and  wash  his  cup  and  plate 
in  it.     There  is,  however,  this  to  be  said  anent  the  dis- 
use of  the  bath  in  this  country,  that  in  cold  weather  most 
men  perspire  very  little  indeed,  and  the  perspiration  that 
is  exuded  passes  through  to  the  outer  garments  and  is 


86    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

immediately  deposited  upon  them  as  frost;  and  there  is 
this  further  to  be  said  about  dirt  in  general,  that  one 
blessed  property  of  the  cold  is  to  kill  all  odours. 

One  grows  tolerant  of  dirt  in  this  country ;  there  is  no 
denying  it,  and  it  is  well  that  it  is  so;  otherwise  one 
would  be  in  a  chronic  state  of  disgust  with  oneself  and 
every  one  else.  So  the  dirt  of  the  native,  unless  specially 
prominent  and  offensive,  is  accepted  as  a  matter  of 
course  and  ignored.  This  obstacle  overcome,  the  Es- 
quimaux are  an  attractive  and  most  interesting  race, 
and  compare  to  advantage  with  the  Indians  in  almost 
every  particular.  They  are  a  very  industrious  people.  Go 
into  an  Esquimau's  hut  at  almost  any  time  when  they 
are  not  sleeping,  and  you  will  find  every  individual 
occupied  at  some  task.  Here  is  a  man  working  in  wood 
or  bone  with  the  ingenious  tools  they  have  evolved ;  here 
are  women  working  in  skin  or  fur,  and  some  of  them 
are  admirable  needlewomen;  here,  perhaps,  is  another 
woman  chewing  mukluks — and  many  a  white  man  who 
has  kept  his  feet  dry  in  overflow  water  is  grateful  to  the 
teeth  that  do  not  disdain  this  most  effective  way  of 
securing  an  intimate  union  between  sole  and  upper. 
Even  the  children  are  busy:  here  is  a  boy  whittling  out 
bow  and  arrow — and  they  do  great  execution  amongst 
rabbits  and  ptarmigan  with  these  weapons  that  entail 
no  cost  of  powder  and  shot;  here  is  a  girl  beating  out 
threads  from  sinew  with  a  couple  of  flat  stones.  Some 
of  us,  troubled  with  unconscientious  tailors,  wish  that  a 
law  could  be  passed  requiring  all  buttons  to  be  sewn  on 
with  sinew — they  never  come  off. 


A  LIGHT-HEARTED   FOLK  87 

They  are  a  very  light-hearted  people,  easily  amused, 
bubbling  over  with  laughter  and  merriment,  romping 
and  skylarking  with  one  another  at  every  intermission  of 
labour.  One  of  my  white  travelling  companions  on  this 
journey  was  in  the  habit  of  using  a  little  piece  of  rabbit 
skin  to  protect  his  nose  in  cold  or  windy  weather.  The 
care  of  the  nose  is  sometimes  very  troublesome  indeed, 
it  freezes  more  readily  than  any  other  portion  of  the  body; 
and  a  little  piece  of  rabbit  skin,  moistened  and  applied 
to  the  nose,  will  stay  there  and  keep  it  warm  and  com- 
fortable all  day.  But  it  does  not  exactly  enhance  one's 
personal  attractions. 

We  had  stopped  for  camp  and  were  all  together  for 
the  first  time  in  four  or  five  hours,  when  Roxy  noticed 
this  rabbit-skin  nose  protector,  upon  which  the  breath 
had  condensed  all  the  afternoon  until  two  long  icicles 
depended  from  it,  one  on  each  side,  reaching  down  below 
the  mouth ;  and  he  fell  straightway  into  a  fit  of  laughter 
that  grew  uncontrollable;  he  rolled  on  the  snow  and 
roared.  A  little  annoyed  at  this  exhibition,  I  spoke 
sharply:  "What's  the  matter  with  you,  Roxy;  what  on 
earth  are  you  cutting  up  like  that  for?"  Checking  him- 
self for  a  moment,  he  pointed  to  my  companion  and  said, 
"Alleesame  walrus,'  and  went  off  into  another  paroxysm 
of  laughter,  rolling  about  and  roaring.  At  intervals  all 
the  evening  he  would  break  out  again,  and  when  we  sat 
down  to  eat  it  overcame  him  once  more  and  he  rushed 
outside  where  he  could  give  vent  to  his  mirth  with  less 
offence. 

The  boy  was  straightforward  and  conscientious.     We 


88    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

were  camped  over  Sunday  once,  and  Roxy  had  noticed 
many  marten  tracks  in  the  neighbourhood.  He  had 
brought  a  few  traps  along  with  him  to  set  out  as  we  went 
and  pick  up  on  his  return,  and  he  wanted  to  know  if  I 
thought  he  might  set  some  that  day,  ahhough  it  was  the 
day  of  rest.  Careful  not  to  interfere  in  any  way  with 
the  religious  instruction  any  native  has  received  from 
any  source,  I  told  him  that  was  a  matter  for  him  to  decide 
himself;  that  each  man  was  responsible  for  his  own  con- 
duct. The  boy  thought  awhile — and  he  did  not  set 
his  traps.  Now  that  young  man  had  never  received  any 
instruction  at  a  mission;  all  his  teaching  had  been  from 
other  Esquimaux.  This  same  question  of  working  on 
Sunday  was  the  cause  of  some  of  the  difficulty  between 
the  missionary  at  Long  Beach  and  the  miners  at  Shung- 
nak.  The  sluicing  or  "cleaning-up"  season  is  short,  and 
mining  operators  generally  consider  that  they  cannot 
afford  to  lose  an  hour  of  it.  The  Kobuks  employed  by 
these  miners  quit  their  work  on  Sunday,  and  that  brought 
the  operations  to  a  standstill.  There  was  something  to 
be  said  on  the  miners'  side,  but  I  rejoiced  that  the  Esqui- 
mau boys  showed  such  steadfastness  to  their  teaching. 
"If  you  cannot  use  them  six  days  in  the  week,  if  it  has 
to  be  seven  or  none,  then  do  as  the  miners  on  the  Yukon 
side  do,  consider  the  country  uninhabited,  and  make 
your  arrangements  as  though  there  were  no  Kobuks." 
That  was  my  advice,  and  this  may  be  read  in  connec- 
tion with  Mr.  Stefanson's  caustic  comments  on  the  same 
rigidity  of  observance. 

We  left  Long  Beach  with  a  grateful  feeling  for  the 


THE  JADE  MOUNTAINS  89 

hospitality  with  which  we  had  been  received  and  with 
a  substantial  respect  for  the  earnest  missionary  effort 
that  was  being  put  forth  there.  We  were  able  to  re- 
plenish our  grub  supply  and  also  to  exchange  our  two 
toboggans  for  one  large  sled,  for  we  were  out  of  the 
toboggan  country  again  and  they  had  already  become 
a  nuisance,  slipping  and  sliding  about  on  the  trail.  Our 
host  was  up  early  with  a  good  breakfast  for  us,  and 
speeded  the  parting  guest,  which  on  the  trail  is  certainly 
an  essential  part  of  true  hospitality,  with  all  the  hon- 
ours; the  natives  lined  up  on  the  bank  and  the  younger 
ones  running  along  with  us  for  a  few  hundred  yards. 

Soon  after  we  left  the  mission  we  went  up  a  series  of 
terraces  to  a  desolate,  barren,  wind-swept  flat,  the  port- 
age across  which  cut  off  a  great  bend  of  the  river  and 
saved  us  many  miles  of  travel.  To  our  right  rose  the 
Jade  Mountains,  whence  the  supply  of  this  stone  which 
used  to  be  of  importance  for  arrow-heads  and  other  im- 
plements was  obtained  and  carried  far  and  wide.  A 
light  crust  on  the  snow  broke  through  at  every  step, 
though  the  snow  was  not  deep  enough  and  the  ground 
too  uneven  to  make  snow-shoes  useful;  so  we  all  had 
more  or  less  sore  feet  that  night  when  we  regained  the 
river  and  made  our  camp  near  the  mouth  of  the  Ambler, 
another  tributary  from  the  north. 

The  next  day  was  an  exceedingly  long,  tedious  day. 
The  Kobuk  River,  which  in  its  upper  reaches  is  a  very 
picturesque  stream,  began  now  to  be  as  monotonous  as 
the  lower  Yukon.  It  had  grown  to  considerable  size, 
and  the  bends  to  be  great  curves  of  many  miles  at  a 


90    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

stretch,  one  of  which,  a  decided  bend  to  the  north  of 
the  general  westerly  direction  of  the  river,  we  were  three 
full  hours  in  passing  down.  It  was  while  traversing  this 
bend  that  we  witnessed  a  singular  mirage  that  lent  to 
the  day  all  the  enlivenment  it  had.  Before  us  for  ten 
or  twelve  miles  stretched  the  broad  white  expanse  of 
the  river  bed,  shimmering  in  the  mellow  sunlight,  and 
far  beyond,  remote  but  clear,  rose  the  sharp  white  peaks 
of  the  mountains  that  divide  the  almost  parallel  valleys 
of  the  Kobuk  and  the  Noatak.  As  we  travelled,  these 
distant  peaks  began  to  take  the  most  fantastic  shapes. 
They  flattened  into  a  level  table-land,  and  then  they  shot 
up  into  pinnacles  and  spires.  Then  they  shrank  together 
in  the  middle  and  spread  out  on  top  till  they  looked 
like  great  domed  mushrooms.  Then  the  broad  convex 
tops  separated  themselves  entirely  from  their  stalk-like 
bases  and  hung  detached  in  the  sky  with  daylight  under- 
neath. And  then  these  mushroom  tops  stretched  out 
laterally  and  threw  up  peaks  of  their  own  until  there 
were  distinct  duplicate  ranges,  one  on  the  earth  and  one 
in  the  sky.  It  was  fascinating  to  watch  these  whimsical 
vagaries  of  nature  that  went  on  for  hours.  A  change 
in  one's  own  position,  from  erect  to  stooping,  caused  the 
most  convulsive  contortions,  and  when  once  I  lay  down 
on  the  trail  that  I  might  view  the  scene  through  the 
lowest  stratum  of  the  agitated  air,  every  peak  shot  up 
suddenly  far  into  the  sky  like  the  outspreading  of  one's 
fingers,  to  subside  as  suddenly  as  I  rose  to  my  feet  again. 
The  psalmist's  query  came  naturally  to  the  mind,  "Why 
hop  ye  so  ye  hills  .f"'  and  our  Kobuk  boy  Roxy,  whose 


A   BELATED  CAMP  91 

enjoyment  of  fine  landscapes  and  strange  sights  was 
always  a  pleasure  to  witness,  answered  the  unspoken 
question.  "God  make  mountains  dance  because  spring 
come,"  he  said  prettily  enough. 

Then  we  crossed  another  portage  and  cut  off  ten  miles 
of  river  by  it,  and  when  we  reached  the  river  again  I 
wanted  to  stop,  for  it  grew  towards  evening  and  here 
was  good  camping-ground.  But  we  had  lately  met  some 
travelling  Kobuks  and  they  had  told  Roxy  of  a  cabin 
"just  little  way"  farther  on,  and  I  yielded  to  the  rest 
of  the  company,  who  would  push  on  to  it  and  thus 
avoid  the  necessity  of  making  camp.  That  native  "just 
little  way"  is  worse  than  the  Scotch  "mile  and  a  bit- 
tock";  indeed,  the  natives  have  poor  notion  of  distance  in 
general,  and  miles  have  as  vague  meaning  to  them  as 
kilometres  have  to  the  average  Anglo-Saxon. 

On  and  on  we  pushed,  mile  after  mile,  and  still  no 
cabin.  In  the  gathering  dusk  we  would  continually  think 
we  saw  it;  half-fallen  trees  or  sloping  branches  simu- 
lating snow-covered  gables.  At  last  it  grew  quite  dark, 
and  when  there  was  general  agreement  that  we  must 
seek  the  cabin  no  longer,  but  camp,  there  was  no  place  to 
camp  in.  Either  the  bank  was  inaccessible  or  there  was 
lack  of  dry  timber.  We  went  on  thus,  seeking  rest  and 
finding  none,  until  seven-thirty,  and  then  made  camp 
by  candle-light,  in  a  poor  place  at  that,  having  trudged 
thirty-five  miles  that  day.  A  night-made  camp  is  always 
an  uncomfortable  camp,  and  an  uncomfortable  camp 
means  a  miserable  night,  which  to-morrow  must  pay  for. 
We  did  not  get  to  bed  till  nearly  midnight,  and  it  was 


92    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

nine-forty-five  when  we  started  out  next  morning,  and 
we  made  only  fifteen  miles  that  day. 

The  Kobuk  valley  continued  to  open  out  wider  and 
wider  and  the  mountains  right  and  left  to  recede.  The 
Jade  Mountains  were  now  dim  and  distant  behind  us, 
and  new  ranges  were  coming  into  view.  The  people  on 
this  lower  river  are  very  few.  It  was  just  about  one 
hundred  miles  from  Long  Beach  when  we  reached  the 
next  native  village,  a  miserable  collection  of  pole  dwell- 
ings, half  underground,  with  perhaps  a  score  of  inhabi- 
tants. Certainly  the  conditions  of  life  deteriorated  as  we 
descended  this  river.  The  country  seems  to  afford  nothing 
but  fish ;  we  were  amongst  the  ichthyophagi  pure  and  sim- 
ple. Roxy,  bred  and  born  on  the  upper  Kobuk  and  never 
so  far  down  before,  is  very  scornful  about  it.  "Me  no 
likee  this  country,"  he  says;  "no  caribou,  no  ptarmigan, 
no  rabbits,  no  timber,  no  nothin'."  The  weather  had 
grown  raw  and  cold  again,  with  a  constant  disagreeable 
wind  that  took  all  the  fun  out  of  travelling.  We  passed 
a  place  where  a  white  man  was  pessimistically  picking 
away  at  a  vein  of  coal  in  the  river  bluff.  "Yes,  we  been 
here  all  winter,"  he  said,  "working  on  the  blamed  ledge. 
I  always  knowed  it  was  goin'  to  pinch  out,  and  now  it's 
begun  to  pinch.  My  partner's  gone  to  Candle  for  more 
grub,  but  I  told  him  it  weren't  no  use.  It's  pinchin'  out 
right  now.  I  knowed  it  afore  we  started  work,  but  the 
blamed  fool  wouldn't  listen  to  me.  'It'll  pinch  out,'  I 
told  him  a  dozen  times;  'you  mark  my  word  it'll  pinch 
out,'  I  told  him,  and  now  it's  begun  to  pinch;  and  I  hope 
he'll  be  satisfied."     We  were  reminded  of  the  many  coal- 


THE  CANINE   INTRUDER  93 

mines  from  time  to  time  located  on  the  Yukon,  in  all  or 
nearly  all  of  which  the  vein  has  "pinched  out."  The 
deposits  on  the  coast  may  be  all  the  fancy  of  the  mag- 
azine writer  paints,  and  may  hold  the  "incalculable 
wealth"  that  is  attributed  to  them,  but  the  coal  on  the 
interior  rivers  seems  in  scant  measure  and  of  inferior 
quality. 

The  same  night  we  reached  the  native  village  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Squirrel  River,  another  northern  tributary 
— the  Kobuk  receives  most  of  its  waters  from  the  north 
— and  we  spent  the  night  and  the  next  day,  which  was 
Sunday,  in  one  of  the  half-underground  huts  of  the  place, 
in  company  with  twelve  other  people.  Here  we  found 
Roxy's  brother,  dubbed  "Napoleon"  by  some  white  man. 
They  had  not  seen  one  another  for  years,  yet  all  the 
greeting  was  a  mutual  grunt.  The  Kobuks  are  not 
demonstrative  in  their  affections,  but  it  would  not  be 
right  to  conclude  the  affection  lacking.  I  have  seen  an 
old  Esquimau  woman  taking  part  in  a  dance  the  night 
after  her  husband  was  buried,  yet  it  would  have  been 
unjust  to  have  concluded  that  she  was  callous  and 
indifferent.  It  is  very  easy  to  misunderstand  a  strange 
people,  and  very  hard  to  understand  them  thoroughly. 

The  roof  of  the  tent  was  dome-shaped  and  it  was  lit 
by  a  seal-gut  skylight.  In  the  morning  while  I  was  con- 
ducting Divine  service  and  attempting  most  lamely  by 
the  mouth  of  a  poor  interpreter  to  convey  some  instruc- 
tion, a  dog  fight  outside  adjourned  to  the  roof  and  pres- 
ently both  combatants  came  tumbling  through  the  gut 
window  into  the  midst  of  the  congregation.     They  were 


94    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

unceremoniously  picked  up  and  flung  out  of  the  door, 
a  few  stitches  with  a  needleful  of  sinew  repaired  the 
window,  and  the  proceedings  were  resumed.  These  gut 
windows  have  their  convenience  as  well  as  their  incon- 
venience. When  the  hut  gets  too  warm  and  close  even 
for  Esquimaux,  the  seal  gut  is  folded  back  and  the  outer 
air  rushes  in  to  the  great  refreshment  of  the  occupants; 
when  the  hut  is  cool  enough  the  gut  is  replaced.  A  sky- 
light is  far  and  away  the  best  method  of  illuminating 
any  single-story  structure,  and  this  membrane  is  remark- 
ably translucent,  while  the  snow  that  falls  or  frost  that 
forms  upon  such  a  skylight  is  quickly  removed  by  beat- 
ing the  hand  upon  the  drum-like  surface.  All  glass  win- 
dows must  be  double  glazed,  or  else  in  the  very  cold 
weather  they  are  quickly  covered  with  a  thick  deposit  of 
frost  from  the  condensation  of  the  moisture  inside  the 
room,  and  then  they  admit  much  less  light  than  gut  does. 
One  of  its  unpleasant  features  is  the  way  the  membrane 
snaps  back  and  forth  with  a  report  like  a  pistol  whenever 
the  door  is  opened  and  shut,  but  on  the  whole  it  is  a  very 
good  substitute  for  glass  indeed. 

These  river  Esquimaux  vary  greatly  in  physical  ap- 
pearance. While  many  of  them  are  somewhat  under- 
sized and  all  have  small  feet  and  hands,  some  are  well- 
developed  specimens  of  manhood.  "Riley  Jim,"  the 
chief  of  this  tribe,  would  be  counted  a  tall,  stalwart  man 
anywhere.  And  while  many  have  coarse,  squat  features, 
here  and  there  is  one  who  is  decidedly  attractive  in 
appearance.  A  sweet  smile  which  is  often  upon  the  face, 
and   small,  regular  white  teeth,  greatly  help  to  redeem 


SLEEPING  CUSTOMS  95 

any  countenance.  A  youth  of  about  eighteen  at  the 
Squirrel  River  would  properly  be  called  handsome,  one 
thinks — though  amongst  native  people  one  grows  a  little 
afraid  of  forgetting  standards  of  comparison;  and  his 
wife — for  he  was  already  a  husband — was  a  decidedly 
pretty  girl.  A  word  ought  to  be  said  which  applies  to 
all  the  Esquimaux  we  met.  Although  many  people  live 
in  one  hut  and  there  is  no  possible  privacy,  yet  we  saw 
no  immodesty  of  any  sort.  They  sleep  entirely  nude — 
probably  our  own  great-grandparents  did  the  same,  at 
least  the  people  of  Defoe  and  Smollet  did,  for  night- 
shirts and  pyjamas  are  very  modern  things.  There  is 
much  to  be  said  from  an  hygienic  point  of  view  in  favour 
of  that  custom  as  against  turning  in  "all  standing"  as 
the  Indian  generally  does,  or  sleeping  in  the  day  under- 
wear as  most  white  men  do.  But  although  every  one  of 
a  dozen  people  in  cabin  after  cabin  that  we  stayed  at 
on  the  Kobuk  River  above  and  below  this  place,  of  both 
sexes  and  all  ages,  would  thus  strip  completely  and  go 
to  bed,  there  was  never  any  exposure  of  the  body  at 
all.  It  may  be,  of  course,  that  our  presence  imposed  a 
greater  care  in  this  respect,  but  it  did  not  so  impress 
us;  it  seemed  the  normal  thing.  Another  noticeable 
feature  of  the  lives  of  all  these  people  was  their  devout- 
ness  in  the  matter  of  thanks  before  and  after  meat. 
Some  of  them  would  not  so  much  as  give  and  receive  a 
drink  of  cold  water  without  a  long  responsive  grace. 

As  we  went  on  down  the  river  the  country  grew  bleaker 
and  drearier  and  the  few  scattered  inhabitants  were  living 
more  and  more  the  life  of  the  seacoast.      The  dwellings 


o6    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

resembled  igloos  more  than  cabins,  being  completely 
covered  with  snow  and  approached  by  underground  pas- 
sages, with  heavy  flaps  of  untanned  sealskin  to  close  them. 
When  we  passed  a  fork  of  the  river  we  knew  that  we  were 
entering  the  delta  of  the  Kobuk,  and  that  another  day 
would  take  us  to  the  mission  on  Kotzebue  Sound.  It  was 
a  long,  hard  day,  in  which  we  made  forty  miles,  but  an 
interesting  one.  With  a  start  at  six,  we  were  at  the 
mouth  by  nine-thirty.  The  spruce  which  had  for  some 
time  been  dwarfing  and  dwindling  gave  place  to  willows, 
the  willows  shrank  to  shrubs,  the  shrubs  changed  to 
coarse  grass  thrusting  yellow  tassels  through  the  snow. 
The  river  banks  sank  and  flattened  out  and  ceased,  and 
we  were  on  Hotham  Inlet  with  the  long  coast-line  of  the 
peninsula  that  forms  it  stretching  away  north  and  south 
in  the  distance.  Roxy's  bewilderment  was  amusing. 
He  stopped  and  gazed  about  him  and  said:  "Kobuk 
River  all  pechuk!"  ("Pechuk"  means  "played  out.") 
"What's  the  matter,  no  more  Kobuk  River?"  I  think 
his  mind  had  never  really  entertained  the  notion  of  the 
river  ending,  though  of  course  he  must  often  have  heard 
of  its  mouth  in  the  salt  water.  He  was  out  of  his  country, 
his  bearings  all  gone,  a  feeling  of  helpless  insecurity  tak- 
ing the  place  of  his  usual  confidence,  and  I  think  he  said 
no  more  all  that  day. 

We  had  to  traverse  the  ice  of  Hotham  Inlet  northward 
to  its  mouth,  double  the  end  of  the  peninsula,  and  then 
travel  south  along  the  coast  to  the  mission  at  Kikitaruk, 
the  peninsula  being  too  rugged  to  cross.  Three  consider- 
able rivers  drain  into  Hotham  Inlet,  roughly  parallel  in 


THE  ARCTIC  OCEAN  97 

their  east  and  west  courses,  the  Noatak,  the  Kobuk,  and 
the  Selawik,  so  that  its  waters  must  be  commonly  more 
fresh  than  salt,  for  its  bounds  are  narrow  and  the  extensive 
delta  of  its  eastern  shore  would  argue  its  depth  slight. 
Ahead  of  us,  as  we  travelled  north  making  a  bee-line  for 
the  end  of  the  peninsula,  all  the  afternoon,  loomed  the 
rocky  promontory  of  Krusenstern,  one  of  Kotzebue's 
capes,  and  far  beyond,  stretching  up  the  dim  coast-line, 
lay  the  way  to  Point  Hope.  It  was  with  a  sinking  of 
the  heart  that  I  gazed  upon  it,  for  I  knew  already,  though 
I  had  not  announced  a  decision,  that  the  road  to  Point 
Hope  could  not  be  my  road  that  year.  All  day  long  the 
thermometer  stood  between  — 40°  and  — 30°,  and  the  con- 
stant light  sea-breeze  kept  scarfs  wrapped  closely  about 
mouths  and  noses,  which  always  means  disagreeable 
travel.  When  the  company  stopped  at  noon  to  eat  a  little 
frozen  lunch,  I  was  too  chilly  to  cease  my  movement  and 
pressed  on.  The  day  of  that  blessed  comfort  of  the  trail, 
the  thermos  flask,  was  not  yet.  By  two-thirty  we  had 
reached  Pipe  Spit,  which  still  further  contracts  the  narrow 
entrance  of  the  inlet,  and  turning  west  for  a  mile  or  two 
rounded  the  point  and  then  turned  south  for  ten  miles 
along  the  coast.  Just  about  dark  we  reached  the  mission 
and  stood  gazing  out  over  the  touch  ice  of  Kotzebue 
Sound  to  the  Arctic  Ocean,  having  made  the  forty  miles 
in  ten  and  a  half  hours.  We  had  come  about  one  thou- 
sand miles  from  Fairbanks,  all  of  it  on  foot  and  most  of  it 
on  snow-shoes. 

So  here  was  my  first  sight  of  the  Arctic  Ocean.     All 
day  long  I  had  anticipated  it,  and  it  stirred  me, — a  dim, 


98    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

grey  expanse  stretching  vast  and  vague  in  the  dusk  of 
the  evening.  The  old  navigators  whose  stories  I  had 
read  as  a  boy  passed  before  me  in  their  wonderful,  bold 
sailing  vessels,  going  in  and  out  uncharted  waters  that 
steamships  will  not  venture  to-day — Kotzebue,  Beechey, 
CoUinson,  McClure — pushing  resolutely  northward. 

Less  happy  had  been  my  first  sight  of  the  Pacific 
Ocean,  five  years  before.  I  had  the  ill  luck  to  come 
upon  it  by  way  of  that  Western  Coney  Island,  Santa 
Monica,  and  from  the  merry-go-rounds  and  cheap  eat- 
ing places  Balboa  and  Magellan  and  Franky  Drake  fled 
away  incontinent  and  would  not  be  conjured  back; 
though,  indeed,  the  original  discoverers  would  have  had 
yet  further  occasion  to  gaze  at  one  another  "with  a  wild 
surmise"  if  they  had  seen  shrieking  companies  "shoot- 
ing the  chutes."  But  here  was  vastness,  here  was  deso- 
lation, here  was  silence;  jagged  ice  masses  in  the  fore- 
ground and  boundless  expanse  beyond,  solemn  and  mys- 
terious.    The  Arctic  Ocean  was  even  as  I  had  pictured  it. 

The  missionary  in  charge  at  Kikitaruk  had  been  in- 
formed by  letter  of  our  projected  journey  during  the  pre- 
vious summer  and  had  long  expected  us.  We  were  re- 
ceived with  kindness  and  hospitality,  and  after  supper 
began  at  once  our  acquaintance  with  his  work,  for  there 
was  a  service  that  night  which  it  was  thought  we  should 
attend.  I  spoke  for  a  few  minutes  through  an  excellent 
interpreter  and  then  spent  a  couple  of  hours  nodding 
over  the  stove,  overcome  with  sleep,  while  there  was  much 
singing  and  "testimony." 

The  Californian  Society  of  Friends,    established  here 


TOTAL-ABSTINENCE   ESQUIMAUX  99 

a  number  of  years  with  branches  at  other  points  on 
Kotzebue  Sound,  has  done  an  excellent  work  amongst 
the  Esquimaux.  If  they  had  accomplished  nothing  else 
it  would  stand  to  the  everlasting  credit  of  the  Society's 
missionaries  that  they  have  succeeded  in  imbuing  the 
natives  under  their  charge  with  a  total  aversion  to  all 
intoxicating  liquor.  We  had  come  down  from  the  re- 
motest points  to  which  the  influence  of  these  people  has 
extended;  we  had  met  their  natives  five  hundred  miles 
away  from  their  base  of  instruction,  and  everywhere  we 
found  the  same  thing.  It  was  said  by  the  white  men 
on  the  Koyukuk  that  a  Kobuk  could  not  be  induced 
to  take  a  drink  of  whisky.  It  seemed  to  us  a  pity  that 
the  force  of  this  most  wholesome  doctrine  should  be 
weakened  by  the  unsuccessful  attempt  to  include  to- 
bacco in  the  same  rigorous  prohibition.  In  several  cabins 
where  we  stayed  there  was  no  sign  of  smoking  until 
members  of  our  party  produced  pipes,  whereupon  other 
pipes  were  furtively  produced  and  the  tobacco  that  was 
offered  was  eagerly  accepted.  From  any  rational  point 
of  view  the  putting  of  whisky  and  tobacco  in  the  same 
category  is  surely  a  folly.  There  can  be  few  more  harm- 
less indulgences  to  the  native  than  his  pipe,  and  no  one 
knows  the  solace  of  the  pipe  until  he  has  smoked  it 
around  the  camp-fire  in  the  arctic  regions  after  a  hard 
day's  journey. 

The  decision  to  turn  my  back  on  Point  Hope  was,  I 
think,  the  most  painful  decision  I  ever  made  in  my  life; 
with  all  my  heart  I  wanted  to  go  on.  It  was  only  one 
hundred  and  sixty  or  one  hundred  and  seventy  miles 


loo    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

away.  The  journey  had  been  made  in  three  or  four  days; 
but  we  were  now  come  to  a  country  where  travel  is 
impossible  in  bad  weather  and  where  bad  weather  pre- 
vails; and  that  journey  might  quite  as  likely  take  two 
weeks.  I  worked  over  the  calendar  in  my  diary,  figuring 
how  many  days  of  travel  still  remained,  allowing  reason- 
able margins,  and  I  could  not  see  that  I  had  much  more 
than  time  to  get  back  to  Fairbanks  before  the  break-up, 
which  for  sufficient  reason  I  regarded  as  my  first  duty. 
The  day  of  rest  at  Kikitaruk  was  Washington's  birthday, 
the  22d  of  February.  Eight  weeks  would  bring  us  to  the 
19th  April,  by  which  time  the  trails  would  be  already 
breaking  up.  Counting  out  Sundays,  that  left  forty-eight 
days  of  travelling  with  something  like  twelve  hundred 
miles  yet  to  make  without  going  to  Point  Hope — an  av- 
erage of  about  twenty-five  miles  a  day.  I  knew  that  we 
had  made  no  such  average  in  the  distance  already  cov- 
ered, and  though  I  knew  also  that  travelling  improved 
generally  as  the  season  advanced,  I  did  not  know  how 
very  much  better  going  there  is  on  the  wind-hardened 
snows  of  the  coast  when  travelling  is  possible  at  all. 
Again  and  again  I  have  regretted  that  I  did  not  take  the 
chance  and  push  on,  but  at  the  time  I  decided  as  I  thought 
I  ought  to  decide,  and  one  has  no  real  compunctions  when 
that  is  the  case. 

So  a  first-hand  knowledge  of  our  own  most  interesting 
work  among  the  Esquimaux  was  not  for  me  on  that 
occasion — and  there  has  arisen  no  opportunity  since. 
Mr.  Knapp,  who  had  planned  to  spend  the  rest  of  the 
winter  at  Point  Hope,  would  get  a  guide  and  a  team  here 


THE   RESOLUTION  TO  TURN  SOUTH        loi 

and  turn  north  after  some  days'  rest,  while  I  would  turn 
south.  Roxy  was  impatient  to  return  to  Bettles.  "Me 
no  likee  this  country,"  was  all  that  could  be  got  out  of 
him.  So  I  paid  him  his  money  and  made  him  a  present 
of  the  .22  repeating  rifle  with  which  he  had  killed  so  many 
ptarmigan  on  the  journey,  outfitted  him  with  clothes, 
grub,  and  ammunition,  and  let  him  go;  saying  good-bye 
with  regret,  for  he  was  a  good  boy  to  us  all  the  way. 

It  was  late  on  the  night  of  our  single  day  of  rest 
when  I  got  to  bed,  for  there  had  been  squaring  up  of 
accounts  and  much  writing,  and  when  I  got  to  bed  I 
did  not  get  to  sleep.  Again  and  again  I  reviewed  the 
decision  I  had  come  to  and  fought  against  it,  though 
such  is  far  from  my  common  habit.  Even  as  I  write, 
years  after,  the  bitter  rebellious  reluctance  with  which 
I  turned  south  comes  back  to  me.  I  wished  the  hospital 
at  Fairbanks  at  the  bottom  of  the  deep  blue  sea.  I  pro- 
tested I  would  go  on  and  complete  my  journey,  even 
though  it  involved  "thawing  out"  at  Tanana  and  getting 
to  Fairbanks  on  a  steamboat  in  the  summer.  I  had  a 
free  hand,  a  kindly  and  complaisant  bishop,  and  none 
would  call  me  strictly  to  account.  Then  I  realised  that 
it  was  merely  pride  of  purpose,  self-willed  resolution  of 
accomplishing  what  had  been  essayed — in  a  word,  per- 
sonal gratification  for  which  I  was  fighting,  and  with 
that  realisation  came  surrender  and  sleep. 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE  SEWARD  PENINSULA— CANDLE  CREEK,  COUNCIL, 
AND  NOME 

One  day's  rest  was  not  a  great  deal  after  the  distance 
we  had  come — and  that  day  fully  occupied  with  business 
— but  since  Point  Hope  was  abandoned  some  sort  of 
schedule  must  be  made  for  the  Seward  Peninsula,  and 
where  Sunday  shall  be  spent  is  always  an  important 
factor  in  arranging  these  itineraries.  There  was  just 
time  to  reach  Candle  for  the  next  Sunday  and  it  was 
decided  to  attempt  it.  Hans  would  accompany  me  as  far 
as  Candle,  where  he  hoped  to  find  work.  It  meant  two 
days  of  forty-five  miles  each,  for  it  is  ninety  miles  from 
Kikitaruk  to  Candle,  but  they  told  us  it  could  be  done.. 

So  the  reluctant  adieus  made,  letters  despatched, 
some  mailed  here  at  Kikitaruk,  some  to  be  carried  back 
to  Bettles  and  mailed  there — these  latter  getting  outside 
long  before  the  former — we  started  at  seven  in  the  morn- 
ing instead  of  six,  as  we  had  planned,  on  the  journey 
down  the  shore  of  Kotzebue  Sound.  That  hour's  delay 
turned  out  to  be  a  calamity  for  us. 

The  trail  was  smooth  along  the  beach  until  Cape 
Blossom  was  reached,  and  I  had  the  first  riding  of  the 
winter,  Hans  and  I  alternately  running  and  jumping  on 
the  sled.  There  was  a  portage  across  the  cape,  and  three 
or  four  miles  below  it  was  the  wreck  of  the  river  steamer 


A  BAD  NIGHT  103 

Rileyy  which  used  to  make  a  voyage  up  the  Kobuk  with 
suppHes  for  the  miners  at  the  Shungnak.  The  ther- 
mometer was  at — 38°  when  we  started,  and  the  same  Hght 
but  keen  breeze  was  blowing  that  had  annoyed  us  on  the 
other  side  of  the  peninsula.  What  a  barren,  desolate 
region  it  is! — low  rocks  sinking  away  to  the  dead  level 
of  the  snow-field  on  the  one  hand,  nothing  but  the  ice- 
field on  the  other. 

We  were  bound  for  an  igloo  forty-five  miles  from  the 
mission,  the  only  shelter  between  Kikitaruk  on  the  pe- 
ninsula and  Kewalik  on  the  mainland,  and  we  had  been 
warned  that  the  igloo  would  be  easy  to  miss  if  it  grew 
dark  as  it  would  be  almost  indistinguishable  from  the 
snow-drifts  of  the  shore.  Some  directions  from  a  multi- 
tude of  counsellors  remembered  in  one  sense  by  Hans 
and  in  another  by  me,  added  to  our  uncertainty  as  to 
just  where  the  igloo  lay.  The  wind  increased  in  force 
as  the  evening  advanced  and  the  last  time  I  looked  at 
the  thermometer  it  still  registered — 38°.  The  sun  set 
over  the  sound  with  another  of  those  curious  distortions 
which  had  before  proved  ominous  to  us.  It  was  flat- 
tened and  swollen  out  like  a  pot-bellied  Chinese  lantern, 
with  a  neck  to  it  and  an  irregular  veining  over  its  surface 
that  completed  the  resemblance.  The  wind  increased 
until  the  air  was  full  of  flying  snow  and  it  grew  dark, 
and  still  there  was  no  sign  of  the  igloo.  Only  slowly  and 
with  much  difficulty  could  the  trail  be  followed,  and  that 
meant  we  were  soon  not  moving  fast  enough  to  keep 
warm  in  the  fierce  wind.  At  last  we  lost  the  trail  alto- 
gether, and  sometimes  we  found  ourselves  out  on  the 


I04    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

rough  ice  of  the  sound  and  sometimes  wallowing  In  a 
fresh  snow-drift  on  the  shore.  I  became  possessed  with 
the  fear  that  we  had  passed  the  igloo.  I  was  positive 
that  we  were  told  at  the  mission  that  we  should  reach 
it  before  the  high  bluffs  were  passed,  and  we  had  passed 
them  a  long  way  and  had  now  but  a  shallow  shelf  to 
mark  the  coast-line.  It  is  strange  how  long  that  delusion 
about  passing  his  destination  will  pursue  the  Alaskan 
traveller.  Presently  the  dogs  dropped  off  a  steep  bank 
in  the  dark,  and  only  by  good  fortune  we  were  able  to 
keep  the  heavy  sled  from  falling  upon  them,  for  they 
were  dead  tired  and  lay  where  they  dropped.  With 
freezing  fingers  I  unhitched  the  dogs  while  Hans  held 
the  sled,  and  we  lowered  it  safely  down.  But  it  was 
plain  that  it  was  dangerous  to  proceed.  We  could  not 
find  the  trail  again  and  were  growing  alarmingly  cold. 
We  were  "up  against  it,'*  as  they  say  here,  "up  against 
it  good  and  strong."  We  had  a  tent  but  no  means  of 
putting  it  up,  a  stove  but  nothing  to  burn  in  it,  a  grub 
box  full  of  food  but  no  way  to  cook  it.  So  the  first 
night  of  coast  travel  was  to  show  us  the  full  rigour  and 
inhospitality  of  the  coast  and  to  make  us  long  for  the 
interior  again.  Wood  can  almost  always  be  found  there 
within  a  few  miles,  if  it  be  not  immediately  at  hand, 
and  no  one  properly  appreciates  the  hospitality  of  a 
clump  of  spruce-trees  until  he  has  spent  a  night  of  storm 
lying  out  on  this  barren  coast.  We  turned  the  dogs 
loose  and  threw  them  a  fish  apiece,  unlashed  the  sled, 
and  got  out  our  bedding.  I  had  been  sleeping  in  robes, 
Hans  in  a  shedding  caribou-hide  sleeping-bag  that  was 


u; 


CAMPED   IN  THE  OPEN  105 

my  pet  aversion.  When  he  crawled  out  in  the  morning 
he  was  so  covered  with  hair  that  he  looked  like  a  cari- 
bou, and  the  miserable  hairs  were  always  getting  into 
the  food.  We  fished  them  out  of  the  coffee,  pulled  them 
out  of  the  butter,  and  picked  them  out  of  the  bread. 
But  now  in  that  sleeping-bag  he  had  an  enormous  ad- 
vantage. We  lay  side  by  side  on  the  snow  in  the  lee  of 
the  sled,  and,  tuck  myself  up  with  blanket  and  robe  as  I 
would,  it  was  impossible  to  keep  the  swirling  snow  from 
coming  in.  I  called  the  dogs  to  me  and  made  them  lie 
on  my  feet  and  up  against  my  side,  and  so  long  as  they 
lay  still  I  could  get  a  little  warmth,  but  whenever  they 
rose  and  left  me  I  grew  numb  again.  But  Hans  in  his 
sleeping-bag  was  snoring.  The  bag  is  the  only  bedding 
on  the  coast.  Added  to  the  physical  discomfort  of  that 
sleepless,  shivery  night  was  some  mental  uneasiness. 
There  was  no  telling  to  what  height  the  storm  might 
rise,  nor  how  long  it  might  continue.  Sometimes  trav- 
ellers overtaken  in  this  way  on  the  coast  have  to  lie 
in  their  sleeping-bags  for  three  days  and  nights  before 
they  can  resume  their  journey.  The  only  interest  the 
night  held  was  the  thought  that  came  to  me  that  as  nearly 
as  I  could  tell  we  camped  exactly  on  the  Arctic  Circle. 
The  long  night  dragged  its  slow  length  to  the  dawn  at 
last  and  the  wind  moderated  a  little  at  the  same  time,  so 
with  the  first  streak  in  the  east  I  awoke  Hans,  we  gath- 
ered our  poor  dogs  together,  rolled  up  the  snow-incrusted 
bedding,  and  resumed  our  journey.  Two  miles  farther 
on  was  the  igloo!  Our  calls  awoke  some  one  and  we  were 
bidden    to    enter.     Descending   a    ladder   and    crawling 


io6    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

through  a  dark  passage  we  came  in  to  the  grateful  warmth 
and  shelter.  The  chamber  was  crowded  with  sleeping 
Esquimaux  and  reeked  with  seal  oil  and  fish,  but  Hans 
said  it  "looked  good  and  smelled  good  to  him,"  and  so 
it  did  to  me  also.  One  has  to  lie  out  on  that  coast  in  a 
storm  to  appreciate  the  value  of  mere  shelter.  We  went 
at  once  to  cooking,  for  we  had  eaten  nothing  but  a  dough- 
nut or  two  in  twenty-four  hours,  and  surely  never  meal 
was  more  relished  than  the  reindeer  steaks  and  the  coffee 
we  took  amongst  those  still  sleeping  Esquimaux.  I  should 
have  liked  to  spend  the  day  and  the  next  night  there,  for 
they  were  friendly  and  kindly,  but  the  wind  had  moder- 
ated somewhat  and  there  was  still  a  chance  to  reach  Can- 
dle for  Sunday.  With  the  offer  of  a  sack  of  flour  at 
Kewalik  we  induced  a  couple  of  Esquimaux  to  accompany 
us,  for  I  knew  we  had  to  cross  the  mouth  of  a  bay  over 
the  ice  to  reach  the  mainland  and  I  wanted  to  take  no 
more  chances. 

Our  company,  again  raised  to  four,  started  out  about 
nine,  and  until  the  Choris  Peninsula  was  reached  the 
trail  still  skirted  the  shore.  It  is  strange  that  Kotzebue, 
who  named  this  peninsula  of  a  peninsula  for  the  artist 
who  accompanied  his  expedition  in  1816,  should  have 
left  the  main  peninsula  itself  unnamed,  and  that  the 
British  expedition  which  named  Cape  Blossom  ten  years 
later  should  have  failed  to  supply  the  omission.  It  still 
bears  no  name  on  the  map.  We  portaged  across  the 
Choris  Peninsula  and  at  the  end  of  the  portage  took  a 
straight  course  across  the  mouth  of  Escholtz  Bay  (Es- 
choltz  was  Kotzebue's  surgeon)  for  Kewalik  on  the  main- 


CANDLE  CREEK  107 

land,  passing  Chamisso  Island,  named  for  Kotzebue's 
poet  friend.  There  is  something  very  interesting  to  me 
in  this  voyage  of  Kotzebue's,  and  I  have  long  wished  to 
come  across  a  full  narrative  of  it.  But  the  bitter  wind 
that  swept  across  that  ice-sheet  with  the  thermometer 
at  — 30°  brought  one's  thoughts  back  to  one's  own  con- 
dition. My  hands  I  could  not  keep  warm  with  the  gear 
that  had  sufficed  for  50°  and  60°  below  in  the  interior, 
and  I  was  very  glad  to  procure  from  one  of  our  native 
companions  a  pair  of  caribou  mitts  with  the  hair  inside, 
an  almost  invulnerable  gauntlet  against  cold.  If  that 
wind  had  been  in  our  faces  instead  of  on  our  sides  I  am 
sure  we  could  not  have  travelled  at  all.  At  last  we  won 
across  the  ice  and  brought  up  at  a  comfortable  road- 
house  at  Kewalik,  about  ten  miles  from  Candle.  Here 
we  lay  overnight,  taking  the  opportunity  of  thawing  out 
and  drying  the  frost-crusted  bedding,  leaving  the  short 
run  into  town  for  the  morning. 

The  diggings  on  Candle  Creek  yield  to  the  Koyukuk 
diggings  only  as  the  most  northerly  gold  mining  in  the 
world.  Although  the  general  methods  are  the  same  in 
all  Alaskan  camps,  local  circumstances  introduce  many 
differences.  In  all  Alaskan  camps  the  ground  is  frozen 
and  must  be  thawed  down.  The  timber  of  the  interior 
renders  wood  the  natural  fuel  for  the  production  of  the 
steam  that  thaws  the  ground,  but  the  scarcity  of  wood 
on  the  Seward  Peninsula  substitutes  coal.  There  is 
coal  on  the  peninsula  itself,  but  of  very  inferior  quality, 
mixed  with  ice.  One  may  see  chunks  of  coal  with  veins 
of  ice  running  through  them  thrown  upon  the  fire.     The 


io8    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

wood  of  the  interior  is  a  great  factor  in  its  commercial 
and  domestic  economy,  and  its  absence  on  the  Seward 
Peninsula  makes  great  change  not  only  in  the  natural 
aspect  of  the  country  but  in  the  whole  aspect  of  its  in- 
dustrial and  domestic  life  also.  Wood-chopping  for  the 
stove  and  the  mill,  wood-sawing,  wood-hauling  employ 
no  small  percentage  of  all  the  white  men  in  the  interior — 
occupations  which  do  not  exist  at  all  on  the  peninsula. 
But  its  encompassment  by  the  sea,  its  peninsularity,  is 
the  dominating  difference  between  the  Seward  Peninsula 
and  the  interior,  and  does  indeed  make  a  diff^erent  coun- 
try of  it  altogether.  All  prices  are  very  much  lower  on 
the  peninsula  because  ships  can  bring  merchandise  di- 
rectly from  the  "outside."  Thus  amongst  those  who 
have  money  to  spend  there  is  a  more  lavish  scale  of  living 
than  in  the  interior  towns,  and  luxuries  may  be  enjoyed 
here  that  are  out  of  the  question  there.  Perhaps,  con- 
versely, it  is  true  that  life  on  the  peninsula  is  somewhat 
harder  for  the  poorer  class.  Whether  a  railway  from 
salt  water  to  the  mid-Yukon  would  redress  this  great 
difference  in  the  cost  of  everything  may  be  doubted. 
Railways  do  not  usually  operate  at  less  than  water- 
rates.  There  will  probably  always  be  an  advantage  in 
the  cost  of  living  and  mining  in  favour  of  the  Seward 
Peninsula  camps. 

There  had  been  no  public  religious  service  of  any 
sort  in  Candle,  with  its  several  hundreds  of  population,  in 
three  years,  so  there  was  special  satisfaction  in  having 
reached  the  place  for  Sunday  when  many  miners  were  in 
town  from  the  creeks,  and  an  overflowing  congregation 


THE  SEWARD  PENINSULA  109 

was  readily  assembled.  And  there  was  great  pleasure  in 
three  days'  rest  at  the  hospitable  home  of  a  friend  while 
the  temperature  remained  below  — 40°,  exacerbated  by  a 
wind  that  rendered  travelling  dangerous.  Moreover,  by 
waiting  I  had  company  on  the  way,  and  now  that  I  was 
without  native  attendant  or  white  companion,  and  dis- 
posed, if  possible,  to  make  the  journey  right  across  the 
peninsula  to  Council  and  then  to  Nome  without  engaging 
fresh  assistance,  I  was  doubly  glad  of  the  opportunity  of 
travelling  with  two  men  bound  for  the  same  places  and 
acquainted  with  the  route. 

Travelling,  like  so  many  other  things,  is  very  different 
on  the  Seward  Peninsula.  The  constant  winds  beat  down 
and  harden  the  snow  until  it  has  a  crust  that  will  carry 
a  man  anywhere.  There  are  only  two  means  by  which 
snow  becomes  crusted;  one  is  this  packing  and  solidifying 
by  the  wind,  and  the  other  is  thawing  and  freezing  again. 
There  is  much  less  wind  in  the  interior  than  on  the  coast, 
and  usually  much  less  snowfall,  and  the  greater  part  of 
the  surface  of  the  country  is  protected  by  trees ;  the  cli- 
mate, being  continental  instead  of  marine,  is  not  subject 
to  such  great  fluctuations  of  temperature.  A  thaw 
sufficiently  pronounced  or  sufficiently  prolonged  to  put  a 
stout  crust  on  the  snow  when  freezing  is  resumed,  is  a  very 
rare  thing  in  the  interior  and  a  common  thing  on  the 
coast.  So  a  striking  difference  in  travel  at  once  mani- 
fests itself;  in  the  interior  all  the  snow  is  soft  except  on  a 
beaten  trail  itself,  while  in  the  Seward  Peninsula  all  the 
snow  is  alike  hard.  The  musher  is  not  confined  to  trails 
— he  can  go  where  he  pleases;  and  his  vehicle  is  under  no 


no    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

necessity  of  conforming  in  width  to  a  general  usage  of 
the  country — it  may  be  as  wide  as  he  pleases.  Hence 
the  hitching  of  dogs  two  and  three  abreast;  hence  the 
sleds  of  twenty-two,  twenty-four,  or  twenty-six  inches 
in  width.  My  tandem  rig  aroused  the  curiosity  of  those 
who  saw  it.  Hence  many  other  differences  also.  Hitherto 
we  had  not  dreamed  of  watering  the  dogs  since  snow  fell ; 
now  I  found  their  mouths  bloody  from  their  ineffectual 
attempts  to  dig  up  the  hard  snow  with  their  teeth,  and 
had  to  water  them  night  and  morning.  It  is  not  the  cus- 
tom on  the  Seward  Peninsula  to  cook  for  the  dogs,  and 
dog  mushers  there  argue  the  needlessness  of  that  trouble. 
But  the  true  reason  is  other  and  obvious.  It  is  difficult 
for  the  traveller  to  get  enough  wood  to  cook  for  himself, 
let  alone  the  dogs.  On  the  Seward  Peninsula  skis  are 
extensively  used  when  there  is  soft  snow;  the  prevalence 
of  brush  almost  everywhere  in  the  interior  renders  them 
of  little  use — and  they  are,  therefore,  little  used,  snow- 
shoes  being  universal. 

So,  as  in  nearly  all  such  matters  everywhere,  local 
peculiarities,  local  differences,  local  customs,  usually 
arise  from  local  conditions,  and  the  wise  man  will  com- 
monly conform  so  soon  as  he  discovers  them.  There  is 
almost  always  a  sufficient  reason  for  them. 

The  journey  from  Candle  to  Council  was  a  surprisingly 
swift  one.  We  covered  the  one  hundred  and  thirty  miles 
in  three  days,  far  and  away  the  best  travelling  of  the 
winter  so  far,  but  the  usual  time,  I  found.  The  hard 
snow  gives  smooth  passage  though  the  interior  of  the 
peninsula  is  rugged  and  mountainous;    two  prominent 


A  "SIDLING"  TRAIL  in 

elevations,  the  Ass's  Ears,  standing  up  as  landmarks 
during  the  first  day  of  the  journey.  The  route  crossed 
ridge  after  ridge  with  steep  grades,  and  the  handling  of 
the  heavy  sled  alone  was  too  much  for  me.  Again  and 
again  it  was  overturned,  and  it  was  all  that  I  could  do, 
and  more  than  I  ought  to  have  done,  to  set  it  up  again. 
The  wind  continued  to  blow  with  violence,  and  shelter 
from  it  there  was  none.  One  hillside  struggle  I  shall 
always  remember.  The  trail  sloped  with  the  hill  and 
the  wind  was  blowing  directly  down  it.  I  could  keep  no 
footing  on  the  marble  snow  and  had  fallen  heavily  again 
and  again,  in  my  frantic  efforts  to  hold  sled  and  dogs 
and  all  from  sweeping  down  into  a  dark  ravine  that 
loomed  below,  when  I  bethought  me  of  the  ''creepers" 
in  the  hind-sack,  used  on  the  rivers  in  passing  over  glare 
ice.  With  these  irons  strapped  to  my  feet  I  was  able  to 
stand  upright,  but  it  was  only  by  a  hair's  breadth  once 
and  again  that  I  got  my  load  safely  across.  When  I 
was  wallowing  in  a  hot  bath  at  Council  two  days  later 
I  found  that  my  hip  and  thigh  were  black  and  blue  where 
I  had  fallen,  though  at  the  time,  in  my  anxiety  to  save 
the  dogs  and  the  sled,  I  had  not  noticed  that  I  had 
bruised  myself.  So,  judging  great  things  by  little,  one 
understands  how  a  soldier  may  be  sorely  wounded  with- 
out knowing  it  in  the  heat  and  exaltation  of  battle. 

Then  for  a  while  there  would  be  such  travel  as  one  sees 
in  the  children's  picture-books,  where  the  man  sits  in  the 
sled  and  cracks  his  whip  and  is  whisked  along  as  gaily 
as  you  please — such  travel  as  I  had  never  had  before; 
but  there  was  no  pleasure  in  it — the  wind  saw  to  that. 


112    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

On  the  second  day  we  crossed  **  Death  Valley,"  so 
called  because  two  men  were  once  found  frozen  in  it;  a 
bleak,  barren  expanse,  five  or  six  miles  across,  with  a 
great  gale  blowing  right  down  it,  charged  not  only  with 
particles  of  hard  snow  but  with  spicules  of  ice  and  grains 
of  sand.  Our  course  was  south  and  the  gale  blew  from 
the  northwest,  and  the  right  side  of  one's  body  and  the 
right  arm  were  continually  numb  from  the  incessant 
beating  of  the  wind.  The  parkee  hood  had  to  be  drawn 
closely  all  the  time,  and  the  eyes  were  sore  from  trying  to 
peer  ahead  through  the  fur  edging  of  the  hood.  One 
grows  to  hate  that  wind  with  something  like  a  personal 
animosity,  so  brutal,  so  malicious  does  it  seem.  An  in- 
cautious turn  of  the  head  and  the  scarf  that  protected 
mouth  and  nose  was  snatched  from  me  and  borne  far 
away  in  an  instant,  beyond  thought  of  recovery.  It 
seems  to  lie  in  wait,  and  one  fancies  a  fresh  shrill  of 
glee  in  its  note  at  every  new  discomfiture  it  can  inflict. 
There  is  nothing  far-fetched  in  the  native  superstition 
that  puts  a  malignant  spirit  in  the  wind;  it  is  the  most 
natural  feeling  in  the  world.  I  said  so  that  night  in 
camp,  and  one  of  my  companions  mentioned  something 
about  "rude  Boreas,"  and  I  laughed.  The  gentle  myths 
of  Greece  do  not  fit  this  country.  The  Indian  name 
means  "the  wind  beast,"  and  is  appropriate. 

A  savage,  forbidding  country,  this  whole  interior  of 
the  Seward  Peninsula,  uninhabited  and  unfit  for  habita- 
tion; a  country  of  naked  rock  and  bare  hillside  and  deso- 
late, barren  valley,  without  amenities  of  any  kind  and 
cursed  with  a  perpetual  icy  blast. 


DEATH  VALLEY  113 

The  valley  crossed  and  its  ridge  surmounted,  a  still 
more  heart-breaking  experience  was  in  store.  We  de- 
scended the  frozen  bed  of  a  creek  from  which  the  wind 
had  swept  every  trace  of  snow  so  that  the  ice  was  polished 
as  smooth  as  glass.  The  dogs  could  get  no  footing  and 
were  continually  down  on  their  bellies,  moving  their  legs 
instinctively  but  helplessly,  like  the  flippers  of  a  turtle, 
while  the  wind  carried  dogs  and  sled  where  it  pleased. 
The  grade  was  considerable  and  in  bends  the  creek  spread 
out  wide.  Nothing  but  the  creepers  enabled  a  man  to 
stand  at  all,  and  creepers  and  brake  together  could  not 
hold  the  sled  from  careering  sideways  across  the  ice, 
dragging  the  dogs  with  it,  until  the  runners  struck  some 
pebble  or  twig  frozen  in  the  ice  and  the  sled  would  be 
violently  overturned.  Twice  with  freezing  fingers  I  un- 
lashed  that  sled  lying  on  its  side,  and  took  out  nearly  all 
the  load  before  I  could  succeed  in  getting  it  upright 
again,  losing  some  of  the  lighter  articles  each  time.  The 
third  time  was  the  worst  of  all.  The  brake  had  been 
little  more  than  a  pivot  on  which  sled  and  dogs  were  swung 
to  leeward,  but  now  the  teeth  had  become  so  blunt  that, 
though  I  stood  upon  it  with  all  my  weight,  it  would  not  hold 
at  all  nor  check  the  sideways  motion  under  the  impulse  of 
the  wind.  Right  across  the  creek  we  went,  dragging  the 
dogs  behind,  jerking  them  hither  and  thither  over  the 
glassy  surface.  I  saw  the  rocks  towards  which  we  were 
driving,  but  was  powerless  to  avert  the  disaster,  and  hung 
on  in  some  hope,  I  suppose,  of  being  able  to  minimise  it, 
till,  with  a  crash  that  broke  two  of  the  uprights  and  threw 
me  so  hard  that  I  skinned  my  elbow  and  hurt  my  head. 


114    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

we  were  once  more  overturned.  Never  since  I  reached 
manhood,  I  think,  did  I  feel  so  much  Hke  sitting  down 
and  crying.  It  seemed  hopeless  to  think  about  getting 
down  that  creek  until  the  wind  stopped,  and  one  doubts 
if  the  wind  ever  does  stop  in  that  country.  But  there 
was  no  good  sitting  there  like  a  shipwrecked  mariner, 
nursing  sores  and  misfortunes ;  presently  one  would  begin 
to  feel  sorry  for  oneself — that  last  resort  of  incompetence. 
And  the  bitter  wind  is  a  great  stimulus.  It  will  not 
permit  inaction.  So  I  was  up  again,  fumbling  at  the 
sled  lashings  as  best  I  could  with  torpid  fingers,  when  one 
of  my  companions,  uneasy  at  my  delay,  very  kindly  made 
his  way  back,  and  with  his  assistance  I  was  able  to  get 
the  sled  upright  again  without  unloading  and  hold  it 
somewhat  better  on  its  course  until  another  bend  or  two 
brought  us  to  the  partial  shelter  of  bluffs  and,  a  little 
farther,  to  the  cabin  where  we  were  to  spend  the  night. 
I  understood  now  why  my  companions  had  a  sort  of 
hinged  knife-edge  fastened  to  one  runner  of  their  sled. 
By  the  pressure  of  a  foot  the  knife-edge  engaged  the  ice 
and  held  the  sled  on  its  course.  This  is  another  Seward 
Peninsula  device. 

I  have  it  in  my  diary  that  "a  Swede  named  Petersen 
was  very  kind  to  us  at  the  cabin,  cooking  for  us  and  giving 
us  cooked  dog  feed."  Blessed  Swede  named  Petersen! 
— there  are  hundreds  of  them  in  Alaska — and  I  shall 
never  forget  that  particular  one's  kindness — the  only 
man  I  met  in  the  Seward  Peninsula  who  still  persisted  in 
cooking  dog  feed  whenever  he  could.  He  had  cooked  up 
a  mess  of  rice  and  fish  enough  to  last  his  three  or  four 


THE   KINDLY  SWEDE  115 

dogs  several  days  while  he  sojourned  at  this  cabin,  and 
he  gave  it  all  to  us  and  would  take  nothing  for  it.  His 
language  was  what  Truthful  James  calls  "frequent  and 
painful  and  free."  I  ignored  it  for  a  while,  loath  to  take 
exception  to  anything  a  man  said  who  had  been  so  kind. 
But  at  last  I  could  stand  it  no  longer — it  took  all  the 
savour  out  of  his  hospitality — and  I  said:  "I  hope  you 
won't  mind  my  saying  it,  for  I'd  hate  to  give  offence  to 
a  man  who  has  been  so  good  to  strangers  as  you  have, 
but  I  wish  you'd  cut  out  that  cursing;  it  hurts  my  ears." 
He  sat  silent  a  moment  looking  straight  at  me,  and  I  was 
not  sure  how  he  had  taken  it.  Then  he  said:  "Maybe 
you  been  kinder  to  me  saying  that,  than  I  been  to  you. 
That's  the  first  time  I  ever  been  call  down  for  cursin'. 
I  don't  mean  nothin'  by  it;  it's  just  foolishness  and  I 
goin'  try  to  cut  it  out." 

The  dogs  had  done  but  ill  on  the  dry  fish,  accustomed 
as  they  were  to  cooked  food,  and  they  ate  ravenously  of 
their  supper.  Only  the  previous  night  Lingo  had  be- 
trayed his  trust  for  the  first  and  last  time.  Coming  out 
of  the  cabin  just  before  turning  in,  to  take  a  last  look 
round,  I  saw  Lingo  on  top  of  the  sled  eating  something, 
and  I  found  that  he  had  dug  a  slab  of  bacon  out  of  the 
unlashed  load  and  had  eaten  most  of  it.  I  knew  he  was 
hungry,  missing  the  filling,  satisfying  mess  he  was  used 
to,  and  I  did  not  thrash  him,  I  simply  said,  "Oh,  Lingo!" 
and  the  dog  got  off  the  sled  and  slunk  away,  the  very 
picture  of  conscious,  shamefaced  guilt.  That  was  the 
only  time  he  did  such  a  thing  in  all  the  six  years  I  drove 
him. 


ii6    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

Council  was  past  its  prime  at  the  time  of  this  visit, 
but  just  as  we  entered  the  town,  at  the  end  of  the  third 
day's  run,  it  seemed  in  danger  of  going  through  all  the 
stages  of  decadence  with  a  rush  to  total  destruction  out 
of  hand,  for  a  fire  had  broken  out  in  a  laundry,  and  with 
the  high  wind  still  blowing  it  looked  as  though  every 
building  was  doomed.  Of  two  chemical  engines  pos- 
sessed by  the  town  one  refused  to  work,  but  the  vigour  and 
promptness  of  the  people  in  forming  two  lines  down  to 
the  river,  and  passing  buckets  with  the  utmost  rapidity, 
coped  with  the  outbreak  just  in  time  to  prevent  its  spread- 
ing beyond  all  control.  Tired  as  we  were,  we  all  pitched 
in  and  passed  buckets  until  parkees  and  mitts  and  muk- 
luks  were  incrusted  with  ice  from  water  that  was  spilled. 
Efficient  protection  is  a  matter  of  great  difficulty  and 
expense  in  Alaskan  towns,  and  there  is  not  one  of  them 
that  has  escaped  being  swept  by  fire.  The  buildings 
are  almost  necessarily  all  of  wood,  the  cost  of  brick  and 
stone  construction  being  prohibitive.  No  one  can  guar- 
antee ten  years  of  life  to  a  placer-mining  town,  and  there 
would  be  no  warrant  for  the  expenditure  of  the  sums 
required  for  fireproof  building  even  were  the  capital 
available.  But  the  rapidity  with  which  they  are  rebuilt, 
where  rebuilding  is  justified,  is  even  more  remarkable 
than  the  rapidity  with  which  they  are  destroyed. 

A  Saturday  and  Sunday  were  very  welcome  at  Council, 
and  the  courtesy  of  the  Presbyterian  minister,  who  gave 
up  his  church  and  his  congregations  to  me,  Esquimaux  in 
the  morning  and  white  at  night,  was  much  appreciated. 

In  warmer  weather,  the  thermometer  no  lower  than 


NORTON  SOUND  117 

— 5°  at  the  start,  but  with  the  same  gale  blowing  that  had 
blown  ever  since  we  left  Candle,  though  it  had  shifted 
towards  the  northeast,  we  got  away  on  Monday  morning, 
bound  for  Nome,  ninety  miles  away,  hoping  to  reach  the 
half-way  house  that  night.  Five  or  six  hours'  run  over 
good  trails,  with  no  greater  inconvenience  than  the 
acceleration  of  our  pace  by  the  wind  on  down  grades, 
until  the  sled  frequently  overran  the  dogs  with  entangle- 
ments and  spillings,  brought  us  to  the  seacoast  at  Topkok, 
and  a  noble  view  opened  up  as  we  climbed  the  great 
bluff.  There  Norton  Sound  spread  out  before  us,  its  ice 
largely  cleared  away  and  blown  into  Bering  Sea  by  the 
strong  wind  that  had  prevailed  for  nearly  a  week,  its 
waves  sparkling  and  dashing  into  foam  in  the  March 
sunshine;  the  distant  cliffs  and  mountains  of  its  other 
shore  just  visible  in  the  clear  air.  It  was  an  exhilarating 
sight — the  first  free  water  that  I  had  seen  since  the  sum- 
mer, and  it  seemed  rejoicing  in  its  freedom,  leaping  up 
with  glee  to  greet  the  mighty  ally  that  had  struck  off  its 
fetters. 

But  from  this  point  troubles  began  to  grow.  We 
dropped  down  presently  to  the  shore  and  passed  along 
the  glare  surface  of  lagoon  after  lagoon,  the  wind  doing 
what  it  liked  with  the  sled,  for  it  was  impossible  to  handle 
it  at  all.  Sometimes  we  went  along  broadside  on,  some- 
times the  sled  first  and  the  dogs  trailing  behind,  moving 
their  silly,  helpless  paws  from  side  to  side  as  they  were 
dragged  over  the  ice  on  their  bellies.  When  we  had 
passed  these  lagoons  the  trail  took  the  beach,  running 
alongside  and  just  to  windward  of  a  telephone-line,  with 


ii8    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

rough  shore  ice  to  the  left  and  bare  rocks  to  the  right. 
Again  and  again  the  already  injured  sled  was  smashed 
heavily  against  a  telephone  pole.  I  would  see  the  impact 
coming  and  strive  my  utmost  to  avert  it,  but  without  a 
gee  pole,  and  swinging  the  sled  only  by  the  handle-bars, 
it  was  more  than  I  could  do  to  hold  the  sled  on  its  course 
against  the  beam  wind  that  was  forcing  it  towards  the  ice 
and  the  telephone  poles;  and  a  gee  pole  could  not  be  used 
at  the  rate  we  had  travelled  ever  since  we  left  Candle. 
Mile  after  mile  we  went  along  in  this  way.  I  do  not  know 
how  many  poles  I  hit  and  how  many  I  missed,  but  every 
pole  on  that  stretch  of  coast  was  a  fresh  and  separate  anx- 
iety and  menace  to  me.  I  think  I  would  have  been  per- 
fectly willing  to  have  abolished  and  wiped  out  the  whole 
invention  of  the  telephone  so  I  could  be  rid  of  those  hate- 
ful poles.  What  were  telephone  poles  doing  in  the  arctic 
regions  anyway  .f*  Telephone  poles  belonged  with  electric 
cars  and  interurban  trolley-lines,  not  with  dog  teams 
and  sleds. 

Then  it  grew  dark  and  the  wind  increased.  I  did 
not  know  it,  but  I  was  approaching  that  stretch  of  coast 
which  is  notorious  as  the  windiest  place  in  all  Alaska, 
a  place  the  topography  of  which  makes  it  a  natural 
funnel  for  the  outlet  of  wind  should  any  be  blowing  any- 
where in  the  interior  of  the  peninsula.  My  companions 
were  far  ahead,  long  since  out  of  sight.  I  struggled  along 
a  little  farther,  and,  just  after  a  particularly  bad  colli- 
sion and  an  overturning,  I  saw  a  light  glimmering  in  the 
snow  to  my  right.  It  was  a  little  road-house,  buried  to 
the  eaves  and  over  the  roof  in  snow-drift,  with  window 


DOGS  AND   REINDEER  119 

tunnels  and  a  door  tunnel  excavated  in  the  snow.  I  was 
yet,  I  learned,  five  miles  from  Solomon's,  my  destination, 
but  I  hailed  this  haven  as  my  refuge  for  the  night  and 
went  no  farther,  more  exhausted  by  the  struggle  of  the 
last  two  or  three  hours  than  by  many  an  all-day  tramp  on 
snow-shoes.  It  was  a  miserable,  dirty  little  shack,  but 
it  was  tight;  it  meant  shelter  from  that  pitiless  wind. 
That  night  the  thermometer  stood  at  7°,  the  first  plus 
temperature  in  twenty-two  days. 

By  morning  the  gale  had  greatly  diminished,  and  by 
the  time  I  reached  Solomon's  and  rejoined  my  compan- 
ions it  was  calm,  the  first  calm  since  we  left  the  middle 
Kobuk.  We  had  some  rough  ice  to  cross  to  avoid  a  long 
detour  of  the  coast,  and  then  we  were  back  on  the  shore 
again  and  it  began  to  snow.  The  snow  was  soon  done 
and  the  sun  shone,  but  the  new  coating  of  dazzling  white 
gave  such  a  glare  that  it  was  necessary  to  put  on  the 
snow  glasses  for  the  first  time  of  the  winter — and  that  is 
always  a  sign  winter  draws  to  a  close. 

On  the  approach  to  Nome  we  had  our  first  encounter 
with  reindeer,  and  at  once  my  dog  team  became  unman- 
ageable. I  had  had  some  trouble  that  morning  with  a 
horse.  A  new  dog  I  procured  at  Kikitaruk  had  never  seen 
a  horse  before,  and  made  frantic  efforts  to  get  at  him, 
leaping  at  his  haunches  as  we  passed  by.  But  when  they 
saw  the  reindeer  the  whole  team  set  off  at  a  run,  drag- 
ging the  heavy  sled  as  if  it  were  nothing.  The  Esquimau 
driving  the  deer  saw  the  approaching  dogs  and  hastily 
drew  his  equipage  off  the  trail  farther  inshore,  standing 
between  the  deer  and  the  dogs  with  a  heavy  whip.     What 


I20    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

the  result  would  have  been  had  the  dogs  reached  the  deer 
it  is  hard  to  say.  I  had  kept  my  stand  on  the  step 
behind  the  sled  and  managed  to  check  its  wild  career 
with  the  brake  and  to  throw  it  over  and  stop  the  approach 
before  the  carnivora  reached  their  immemorial  prey. 
Herein  lies  one  of  the  difficulties  of  the  domestication  of 
reindeer  in  Alaska,  a  country  where  so  far  dogs  have 
been  the  only  domestic  animals.  Again,  as  we  entered 
the  outskirts  of  Nome  the  incident  was  repeated,  and 
only  the  hasty  driving  of  the  reindeer  into  a  barn  pre- 
vented the  dogs  from  seizing  the  deer  that  time. 

Jimmy  was  long  deposed  from  his  ineffectual  leader- 
ship and  a  little  dog  named  Kewalik — the  one  I  obtained 
at  Kikitaruk — was  at  the  head  of  the  team.  Kewalik 
had  never  seen  so  many  houses  before;  hitherto  almost 
every  cabin  he  had  reached  on  his  journeys  had  been  a 
resting-place,  and  he  wanted  to  dive  into  every  house  we 
passed.  At  Candle  and  Council  both,  our  stopping-place 
had  been  near  the  entrance  to  the  little  town.  But  now  we 
had  to  pass  up  one  long  street  after  another  and  I  had 
continually  to  drag  him  and  the  team  he  led  first  from  a 
yard  on  this  side  of  the  road  and  then  from  one  on  the 
other.  The  dog  was  perfectly  bewildered  and  out  of  his 
head  by  the  number  of  people  and  the  number  of  houses 
he  saw.  We  were  indeed  a  sorry,  travel-worn,  unkempt, 
uncivilised  band,  man  and  dogs,  with  an  old,  battered  vehi- 
cle, and  we  felt  our  incongruity  with  the  new  environment 
as  we  entered  the  metropolis  of  the  luxury  and  wealth 
of  the  North.  Here  we  passed  a  jeweller's  shop,  the  whole 
window  aglow  with  the  dull  gleam  of  gold  and  ivory — 


NOME  121 

the  terrible  nugget  jewellery  so  much  affected  in  these 
parts  and  the  walrus  ivory  which  is  Alaska's  other  con- 
tribution of  material  for  the  ornamental  arts.  Here  we 
passed  a  veritable  department  store,  its  ground-floor 
plate-glass  window  set  as  a  drawing-room,  with  gilded, 
brocaded  chairs,  marquetry  table,  and  ormolu  clock,  and 
I  know  not  what  costliness  of  rug  and  curtain.  It  was 
all  so  strange  that  it  seemed  unreal  after  that  long  pas- 
sage of  the  savage  wilds,  that  long  habitation  of  huts  and 
igloos  and  tents.  Hitherto  we  had  often  been  fortunate 
could  we  buy  a  little  flour  and  bacon;  here  the  choice  co- 
mestibles of  the  earth  were  for  sale.  I  looked  askance  at 
my  greasy  parkee  as  I  passed  shops  where  English  broad- 
cloth and  Scotch  tweeds  were  displayed;  at  my  worn, 
clumsy  mukluks  when  I  saw  patent-leather  pumps.  But 
Nome  knows  how  to  welcome  the  wanderer  from  the  wil- 
derness and  to  make  him  altogether  at  home.  There 
could  be  no  warmer  hospitality  than  that  with  which  I 
was  received  by  the  Reverend  John  White  and  his  wife, 
than  that  which  I  had  at  many  a  home  during  my 
week's  stay. 

Nothing  in  the  world  could  have  caused  the  building 
of  a  city  where  Nome  is  built  except  the  thing  that  caused 
it:  the  finding  of  gold  on  the  beach  itself  and  in  the  creeks 
immediately  behind  it.  It  has  no  harbour  or  roadstead, 
no  shelter  or  protection  of  any  kind ;  it  is  in  as  bleak  and 
exposed  a  position  as  a  man  would  find  if  he  should  set 
out  to  hunt  the  earth  over  for  ineligible  sites. 

But  Nome  is  also  a  fine  instance  of  the  way  men  in 
the  North  conquer  local  conditions  and  wring  comfort 


122    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

out  of  bleakness  and  desolation  by  the  clever  adaptation 
of  means  to  ends. 

The  art  of  living  comfortably  in  the  North  had  to  be 
learned,  and  it  has  been  learned  pretty  thoroughly.  Peo- 
ple live  at  Nome  as  well  as  they  do  "outside."  One  may 
sit  down  to  dinners  as  well  cooked,  as  well  furnished,  as 
well  served  as  any  dinners  anywhere.  The  good  folk  of 
Nome  delight  in  spreading  their  dainty  store  before  the 
unjaded  appetite  of  the  winter  traveller,  and  it  would  be 
affectation  to  deny  that  there  is  keen  relish  of  enjoyment 
in  the  long-unwonted  gleam  of  wax  candle  or  electrolier 
upon  perfect  appointment  of  glass,  silver,  and  napery, 
in  the  unobtrusive  but  vigilant  service  of  white-jacketed 
Chinaman  or  Jap.  Nome  has  a  great  advantage  over 
its  only  rival  in  the  interior,  Fairbanks,  in  the  matter  of 
freight  rates.  The  same  merchandise  that  is  landed  at 
the  one  place  for  ten  or  twelve  dollars  a  ton  within  ten 
or  twelve  days  of  its  leaving  Seattle,  costs  fifty  or  sixty 
at  the  other,  and  takes  a  month  or  more  to  arrive.  But 
this  accessibility  in  the  summer  is  exactly  reversed  in 
the  winter.  No  practicable  route  has  been  discovered 
along  the  uninhabited  shores  of  Bering  Sea,  and  all  the 
mail  for  Nome  comes  from  Valdez  to  Fairbanks  and  then 
down  the  Yukon  and  round  Norton  Sound  by  dog  team. 
In  winter  Fairbanks  is  within  seven  or  eight  days  of  open 
salt  water;  Nome  a  full  month.  After  navigation  closes 
in  October,  the  first  mail  does  not  commonly  reach  the 
Seward  Peninsula  until  January.  So  that,  with  all  its 
comforts  and  luxuries,  Nome  is  a  very  isolated  place  for 
eight  months  in  the  year. 


o 


MINING  AT  NOME  123 

We  went  out  with  the  dog  sled  to  the  diggings  a  few 
miles  behind  the  town,  and  a  busy  scene  we  found,  en- 
veloped in  steam  and  smoke.  Here  an  old  beach  line 
had  been  discovered  and  was  yielding  rich  reward  for  the 
working.  A  long  line  of  conical  "dumps"  marked  its 
extension  roughly  parallel  with  the  present  shore,  and 
the  buckets  that  arose  from  the  depths,  travelled  along  a 
cable,  and  at  just  the  right  moment  upset  their  contents, 
continually  added  to  these  heaps.  All  the  winter  "pay- 
dirt"  is  thus  excavated  and  stored;  in  the  summer  when 
the  streams  run  the  gold  is  sluiced  out.  But  that  phrase 
"when  the  streams  run"  covers  a  world  of  difficulty  and 
expense  to  the  miner.  In  some  places  in  this  Seward 
Peninsula,  ditches  thirty  and  forty  miles  long  have  been 
constructed  to  insure  the  streams  running  when  and  where 
they  are  needed. 

There  was  quite  a  little  to  do  in  Nome.  A  new  sled 
must  be  bought,  and  another  dog,  and,  above  all,  some 
arrangement  made  about  a  travelling  companion.  I  was 
not  willing  to  hire  a  native  who  would  have  to  return 
here,  and  I  was  resolved  never  again  to  travel  alone.  So 
I  put  an  advertisement  in  the  newspaper,  desiring  com- 
munication with  some  man  who  was  intending  a  journey 
to  Fairbanks  immediately,  and  was  fortunate  to  meet  a 
sober,  reliable  man  who  undertook  to  accompany  and 
assist  me  for  the  payment  of  his  travelling  expenses. 

The  week  wore  rapidly  away,  and  I  began  to  be  eager 
to  depart,  mindful  of  the  eight  hundred  odd  miles  yet  to 
be  covered.  Spring  seemed  already  here  and  summer 
treading  upon  her  heels,  for  the  town  was  all  slush  and 


124    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

mud  from  a  decided  "soft  snap,"  the  thermometer  stand- 
ing well  above  freezing  for  days  in  succession. 

A  visitor  to  this  place  is  struck  by  the  number  of 
articles  made  from  walrus  ivory  exposed  for  sale,  chief 
amongst  them  being  cribbage-boards.  A  walk  down  the 
streets  would  argue  the  whole  population  given  over  to 
the  incessant  playing  of  cribbage.  The  explanation  is 
found  in  the  difficulty  of  changing  the  direction  of  Es- 
quimau activity  once  that  direction  is  established.  These 
clever  artificers  were  started  making  cribbage-boards  long 
ago  and  it  seems  impossible  to  stop  them.  Every  sum- 
mer they  come  in  from  their  winter  hunting  with  fresh 
supplies  carved  during  the  leisure  of  the  long  nights. 
The  beautiful  walrus  tusk  becomes  almost  an  ugly  thing 
when  it  is  thus  hacked  flat  and  bored  full  of  holes.  The 
best  pieces  of  Esquimau  carving  are  not  these  things,  made 
by  the  dozen,  but  the  domestic  implements  made  for 
their  own  use,  and  some  of  this  work  is  very  clever  and 
tasteful  indeed,  adorned  with  fine  bold  etchings  of  the 
chase  of  walrus,  seal,  and  polar  bear. 


CHAPTER  V 

NOME  TO  FAIRBANKS— NORTON  SOUND— THE  KALTAG 
PORTAGE— NULATO— UP  THE  YUKON  TO  TANANA 

We  left  Nome  on  the  13th  of  March,  the  night  before 
being  taken  up  by  a  banquet  which  the  Commercial  Club 
was  kind  enough  to  give  me;  indeed,  the  whole  stay  was 
marked  by  lavish  kindness  and  hospitality,  and  I  left 
with  the  feeling  that  Nome  was  one  of  the  most  generous 
and  open-handed  places  I  had  ever  visited. 

The  soft  weather  continued  and  made  sloppy  travel. 
Our  course  lay  all  around  Norton  Sound  to  Unalaklik, 
and  then  over  the  portage  to  Kaltag  on  the  Yukon;  up  the 
Yukon  to  the  mouth  of  the  Tanana,  and  then  up  that 
river  to  Fairbanks.  The  first  day's  run  was  the  retracing 
of  our  steps  to  Solomon's,  and  that  was  done  without 
difficulty  save  for  a  new  trouble  with  the  dogs.  It  ap- 
peared that  we  no  longer  had  any  leader.  All  the  winter 
through  my  team  had  been  behind  another  team,  and 
that  constant  second  place  had  turned  our  leaders  into 
followers.  We  thought  we  had  two  leaders,  but  neither 
one  was  willing  to  proceed  without  some  one  or  something 
ahead  of  him.  On  such  good  ice-going  as  this  it  was  out 
of  the  question  for  one  of  us  to  run  ahead  of  the  team 
simply  to  please  these  leader-perverts,  and  the  whip  had 
to  be  wielded  heavily  on  Jimmy's  back  ere  he  could  be 


126    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

induced  to  fill  his  proper  office — and  then  he  did  it  ill, 
with  constant  exasperating  stoppings  and  lookings-back. 
At  Solomon's  I  met  a  man  who  had  spent  some  years 
with  Peary  in  his  arctic  explorations,  and  I  sat  up  far 
into  the  night  drawing  interesting  narratives  out  of  him. 
So  far  as  Topkok  we  were  still  retracing  our  steps,  but 
once  over  the  great  bluff,  which  gave  no  view  this  time 
owing  to  the  mist  which  accompanies  this  soft  weather, 
we  were  on  new  ground,  our  course  lying  wholly  along 
the  beach. 

At  Bluff  was  the  most  interesting,  curious  gold  mining 
I  have  ever  seen,  the  extraction  of  gold  from  the  sand  of 
Norton  Sound,  two  hundred  yards  or  more  out  from  the 
beach.  There  it  lies  under  ten  or  twelve  feet  of  water 
with  the  ice  on  top.  How  shall  it  be  reached?  Why, 
by  the  exact  converse  of  the  usual  Alaskan  placer  mining; 
by  freezing  down  instead  of  thawing  down.  The  ice  is 
cut  away  from  the  beginning  of  a  shaft,  almost  but  not 
quite  down  to  the  water,  leaving  just  a  thin  cake.  The 
atmospheric  cold,  penetrating  this  cake,  freezes  the  water 
below  it,  and  presently  the  hole  is  chopped  down  a  little 
farther,  leaving  always  a  thin  cake  above  the  water.  A 
canvas  chute  is  arranged  over  the  shaft,  with  a  head  like 
a  ship's  ventilator  that  can  be  turned  any  way  to  catch 
the  wind.  Gradually  the  water  is  frozen  down,  and  as 
it  is  frozen  more  and  more  ice  is  removed  until  the  bottom 
is  reached,  surrounded  and  protected  by  a  cylindrical 
shaft  of  ice ;  then  the  sand  can  be  removed  and  the  gold  it 
contains  washed  out.  They  told  us  they  were  making 
good  money  and  their  ingenuity  certainly  deserved  it. 


ICE  TRAVEL  127 

We  stopped  that  night  at  the  native  village  of  Chinnik, 
the  people  of  which  are  looked  after  by  a  mission  of  the 
Swedish  Evangelical  Church  on  Golofnin  Bay,  which  we 
should  cross  to-morrow.  But  the  mission  is  off  the  trail, 
and  we  did  not  come  to  an  acquaintance  with  the  mis- 
sionaries of  this  body  until  we  reached  Unalaklik.  Next 
day,  climbing  and  descending  considerable  grades  in 
warm,  misty  weather,  we  reached  Golofnin  Bay,  pursued 
it  some  distance,  and  left  it  by  a  very  steep,  long  hill 
that  was  close  to  one  thousand  feet  high,  at  the  foot  of 
which  we  were  once  more  on  the  beach  of  the  sound — 
and  at  the  road-house  for  the  night.  From  that  place 
the  trail  no  longer  hugged  the  coast  but  struck  out  boldly 
across  the  ice  for  a  distant  headland,  Moses'  Point,  where 
we  lunched,  and,  that  point  reached,  struck  out  again  for 
Isaac's  Point,  most  of  the  travelling  during  a  long  day 
in  which  we  made  forty-eight  miles  being  four  or  five 
miles  from  land.  The  day  was  clear,  and  the  shore-line 
of  the  other  side  of  the  sound,  which  grew  nearer  as  we 
proceeded,  was  subject  to  strange  distortions  of  mirage. 
The  road-house  that  night  nestled  picturesquely  against  a 
great  bluff,  and  right  across  the  ice  lay  Texas  Point,  for 
which  we  should  make  a  bee-line  to-morrow.  Some- 
times the  traveller  must  go  all  round  Norton  Bay,  but 
at  this  time  the  ice  was  in  good  condition  and  our  route 
cut  across  the  mouth  of  the  bay  for  twenty-two  miles 
straight  for  the  other  side.  It  was  like  crossing  from 
Dover  to  Calais  on  the  ice.  The  passage  made,  the 
Alaskan  mainland  was  reached  once  more,  the  Seward 
Peninsula  left  behind  us,  and  our  way  lay  across  deso- 


128    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

late,  low-lying  tundra  strewn  with  driftwood  and  hollowed 
out  here  and  there  into  little  lagoons.  Evidently  the 
waves  sweep  clean  across  it  in  stormy  weather  when 
the  sound  is  open;  a  salt  marsh.  In  the  midst  of  it 
reared  a  sort  of  lookout  tripod  of  driftwood  thirty  or 
forty  feet  high,  lashed  and  nailed  together,  with  a  pre- 
carious little  platform  on  top  and  cleats  nailed  to  one  of 
the  uprights  for  ascent.  I  essayed  the  view,  but  the 
rusty  nails  broke  under  my  feet.  We  deemed  it  a  hunt- 
ing tower  from  which  water-fowl  might  be  spied  in  the 
spring.  Sixteen  miles  of  this  melancholy  waste  brought 
us  to  the  shore  again,  to  a  tiny  Esquimau  village  and  a 
tumble-down,  half-buried  shack  of  a  road-house  where  we 
should  spend  the  night,  a  little  schooner  lying  beached 
in  front  of  it.  If  its  exterior  were  uninviting,  the  scene  as 
we  entered  was  sinister.  By  the  light  of  a  single  candle — 
though  it  was  not  yet  dark  outside — amidst  unwashed 
dishes  and  general  grime,  sat  an  evil-eyed  Portuguese  or 
Spaniard,  in  a  red  toque,  playing  poker  with  three  skin- 
clad  Esquimaux.  So  absorbed  were  they  in  the  game  that 
they  had  not  heard  us  arrive  nor  seen  us  enter.  With 
a  brief,  reluctant  interval  for  the  preparation  of  a  poor 
supper,  the  card  playing  went  on  all  the  evening  far  into 
the  night.  My  companion  discovered  that  the  chips 
were  worth  a  dollar  apiece  and  judged  it  to  be  "consider- 
able of  a  game."  At  last  I  arose  from  my  bunk  and  said 
that  we  were  tired  and  had  come  there  to  sleep,  and 
with  an  ill  grace  the  playing  was  shortly  abandoned  and 
the  natives  went  off.  The  arctic  shores  have  their  beach- 
combers as  well  as  the  South  Sea  Islands. 


UNALAKLIK  129 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  but  I  was  anxious  to  spend 
my  day  of  rest  at  Unalaklik  and  most  indisposed  to  spend 
it  here,  so  we  got  away  with  a  very  early  start  long  before 
daylight.  Six  or  seven  miles  of  tundra  and  lagoon  travel 
and  the  trail  crossed  abruptly  a  tongue  of  land  and  struck 
out  over  the  salt-water  ice  for  a  cape  fifteen  miles  away. 
The  going  was  splendid.  It  was  not  glare  ice,  but  ice 
upon  which  snow  had  melted  and  frozen  again.  It  was 
so  smooth  that  one  dog  could  have  drawn  the  sled,  yet 
not  so  smooth  as  to  deny  good  footing.  We  kept  well 
out  to  sea,  passing  close  to  the  mountainous  mass  of 
Besborough  Island,  plainly  riven  by  some  ancient  con- 
vulsion from  the  sheer  bluffs  of  the  mainland.  Our 
only  trouble  was  in  keeping  the  dogs  well  enough  out,  for, 
not  being  water-spaniels  or  other  marine  species,  they 
had  a  hankering  after  the  land  and  a  continual  tendency 
to  edge  in  to  shore. 

So  from  headland  to  headland  we  made  rapid,  easy 
traverse,  thoroughly  enjoying  the  ride,  munching  choco- 
late and  raisins,  speculating  about  the  seasons  when  it  had 
been  possible  to  cross  direct  from  Nome  to  Saint  Michael 
on  the  ice,  and  exchanging  stories  we  had  heard  of  the 
disasters  and  hairbreadth  escapes  attending  such  overbold 
venture.  Only  this  winter  three  men  and  a  dog  team 
were  blown  out  into  Bering  Sea  by  a  sudden  storm,  and 
lay  for  four  days  in  their  sleeping-bags  drifting  up  and 
down  on  an  ice  cake,  until  at  last  they  were  blown  back 
to  the  shore  ice  and  made  their  escape.  And  there  is  a 
fine  story  of  a  white  man  rescued  in  half-frozen  state  by  his 
Esquimau  wife,  and  carried  for  miles  on  her  back  to  safety. 


I30    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

At  last  we  turned  a  point  and  drew  in  to  the  shore, 
and,  not  seeing  the  httle  town  till  we  were  almost  upon  it, 
arrived  at  Unalaklik  early  in  the  afternoon.  We  had 
made  the  two  hundred  and  forty  miles,  as  it  is  called, 
from  Nome,  in  six  days.  In  the  last  twelve  days  of  travel 
we  had  covered  five  hundred  miles,  an  average  of  nearly 
forty-two  miles  per  day,  far  and  away  the  best  travelling 
of  the  winter.  The  preceding  five  hundred  miles  had 
taken  twenty-two  days. 

We  were  in  time  to  attend  the  Esquimau  services  at 
the  mission  both  afternoon  and  night,  and  I  found  them 
very  much  the  same  as  at  Kikitaruk,  with  the  exception 
that  the  singing  was  much  more  advanced  and  was  very 
good  indeed.  There  was  an  anthem  of  the  Danks  type 
sung  by  a  choir — the  parts  well  maintained  throughout, 
the  attacks  good,  the  voices  under  excellent  control — 
that  it  pleased  and  surprised  me  to  hear,  and  there  was  a 
long  discourse  most  patiently  and,  as  I  judged,  faithfully 
interpreted  by  a  bright-looking  Esquimau  boy.  It  is  well 
for  those  who  speak  much  through  an  interpreter  to  lis- 
ten occasionally  to  similar  discourse.  Only  so  may  its 
unavoidable  tediousness  be  appreciated. 

The  school  next  day  pleased  me  still  more,  and  I  was 
glad  that  I  had  a  school-day  at  the  place.  I  heard  good 
reading  and  spelling,  saw  good  writing,  and  listened  with 
real  enjoyment  to  the  fresh  young  voices  raised  again 
and  again  in  song.  There  was,  however,  something  so 
curiously  exotic  that  for  a  moment  it  seemed  irresistibly 
funny,  in  "The  Old  Oaken  Bucket,"  from  lips  that  have 
difficulty  with  the  vowel  sounds  of  English ;  from  children 


GOVERNMENT  SCHOOLS  131 

that  never  saw  a  well  and  never  will  see  one; — and  I 
was  irreverent  enough  to  have  much  the  same  feeling 
about  "I  love  thy  templed  hills,"  etc.,  in  that  patriotic 
Plymouth  Rock  song  which  is  so  little  adapted  for  uni- 
versal American  use  that,  in  a  gibe  not  without  justice, 
it  has  been  called  "Smith's  Country,  'tis  of  Thee."  One 
wonders  if  they  sing  it  in  the  Philippine  schools;  and, 
so  far  as  these  regions  are  concerned,  one  wishes  that 
some  teacher  with  a  spark  of  genius  would  take  Gold- 
smith's hint  and  write  a  simple  song  for  Esquimau  children 
that  should 

"  Extol  the  treasures  of  their  finny  seas 
And  their  long  nights  of  revelry  and  ease"; 

the  splendour  of  summer's  perpetual  sunshine  and  the 
weird  radiance  of  the  Northern  Lights;  but  prosody  is 
not  taught  in  your  "Normal"  school.  The  thing  is  a 
vain,  artificial  attempt  to  impose  a  whole  body  of  ideas, 
notions,  standards  of  comparison,  metaphors,  similes, 
and  sentiments  upon  a  race  to  which,  in  great  measure, 
they  must  ever  be  foreign  and  unintelligible.  Here  were 
girls  reading  in  a  text-book  of  so-called  physiology,  and, 
as  it  happened,  the  lesson  that  day  was  on  the  evils  of 
tight  lacing!  The  reading  of  that  book,  I  was  informed, 
is  imposed  by  special  United  States  statute,  and  the 
teacher  must  make  a  separate  report  that  so  much  of  it 
has  been  duly  gone  through  each  month  before  the  sal- 
ary can  be  drawn.  Yet  none  of  those  girls  ever  saw  a 
corset  or  ever  will.  One  is  reminded  of  the  dear  old 
lady  who  used  to  visit  the  jails  and  distribute  tracts  on 
The  Evils  of  Keeping  Bad  Company. 


132    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

But  these  incongruities  aside,  the  school  was  a  good 
school  and  well  taught,  the  government  appointing  the 
teachers,  as  I  learned,  upon  the  nomination  of  the  mission 
authorities;  the  only  way  that  a  government  school  can 
be  successful  at  any  mission  station,  for  the  two  agencies 
must  work  together,  as  one's  right  hand  works  with  one's 
left,  to  effect  any  satisfactory  result.  The  hours  spent 
in  it  were  very  enjoyable,  and  one  wished  one  might 
have  had  opportunity  for  further  acquaintance  with 
some  of  the  bright-faced,  interesting  children,  both  full- 
bloods  and  half-breeds. 

Unalaklik  is  a  thriving  Esquimau  community,  noted 
for  its  native  schooner  building  and  its  successful  seal 
hunters  and  fishermen.  We  were  rejoiced  to  see  signs 
of  native  prosperity  and  advance,  and  we  left  Unalaklik 
with  high  hope  for  its  future. 

Here  also  was  real  rest  and  refreshment  at  a  road- 
house.  Road-houses  in  Alaska  are  as  various  in  quality 
as  inns  are  ''outside."  Our  previous  night's  halt  was  at 
one  of  the  worst;  this  was  one  of  the  best.  The  pro- 
prietor was  a  good  cook  and  he  did  his  best  for  us,  with 
omelet  and  pastry,and  young, tender  reindeer.  It  has  been 
said  that  road-house  keeping  in  Alaska  is  like  soliciting 
life  insurance  "outside,"  the  last  resort  of  incompetence. 
Certain  it  is  that  a  thoroughly  lazy  and  incompetent  man 
may  yet  make  a  living  keeping  a  road-house,  for  there  is 
no  rivalry  save  at  the  more  important  points,  and  trav- 
ellers are  commonly  so  glad  to  reach  any  shelter  that  they 
are  not  disposed  to  be  censorious.  None  the  less,  when 
they  find  a  man  who  takes  a  pride  in  his  business  and  an 


THE   KALTAG  PORTAGE  133 

interest  in  the  comfort  of  his  guests,  they  are  highly 
appreciative. 

We  should  have  only  an  occasional  road-house  from 
now  on,  but  expected  to  reach  some  inhabited  cabin  each 
night.  Our  good  travelling  was  over  though  we  did  not 
know  it.  We  knew  that  the  hard  snows  of  the  Seward 
Peninsula  and  the  bare  ice  of  Norton  Sound  were  behind 
us,  but  we  kept  telling  ourselves  that  the  travel  of  all  the 
winter  would  surely  have  left  a  fine  trail  on  the  Yukon. 
We  were  now  about  sixty-five  miles  from  Saint  Michael, 
by  the  coast.  But  taking  the  ninety-mile  portage  from 
Unalaklik  to  Kaltag  we  should  reach  the  Yukon  River 
more  than  five  hundred  miles  above  Saint  Michael,  so 
much  does  that  portage  cut  off.  This  is  the  route  the 
military  telegraph-line  takes,  and  we  should  travel  along 
close  beside  it  much  of  the  way  until  the  Yukon  was 
reached. 

The  soft  weather  persisted,  and  we  had  even  doubt 
about  starting  out  in  such  a  rapid  thaw.  A  visit  to  the 
telegraph  station  informed  us  that  the  warm  wave  was 
spread  all  over  interior  Alaska  and  that  there  was  gen- 
eral expectation  of  an  early  break-up.  But  if  the  snow 
on  the  portage  were  indeed  rapidly  going,  that  was  all 
the  more  reason  for  getting  across  before  it  had  altogether 
gone;  so  we  pulled  out  in  the  warm,  muggy  weather,  and 
even  as  we  pulled  out  it  began  to  rain ! 

Up  the  little  Unalaklik  River,  water  over  the  ice 
everywhere,  we  went  for  a  few  miles  and  then  took  to 
the  tundra.  All  the  snow  had  gone  except  just  the  hard 
snow  of  the  trail,  a  winding  ribbon  of  white  across  the 


134    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

brown  moss.  The  rain  changed  to  sleet  and  back  to 
rain  again,  and  soon  we  were  wet  through  and  had  much 
trouble  in  keeping  that  penetrating,  persistent  drizzle 
from  wetting  our  load  through  the  canvas  cover.  Though 
not  an  unique  experience,  it  is  rare  to  be  wet  with  rain 
on  the  winter  trail — rarer  in  the  interior  probably  than 
on  the  coast.  Once  since  on  the  Kuskokwim  and  once 
on  the  Fortymile  it  has  happened  to  me  in  seven  win- 
ters' travel.  We  pushed  on  for  thirty  miles,  past  sev- 
eral little  native  villages,  until  we  came  to  Whaleback, 
a  village  part  Esquimau  and  part  Indian.  These  were 
the  last  Esquimaux  we  should  see,  and  I  was  sorry,  for 
I  had  grown  to  like  very  heartily  and  to  respect  very 
sincerely  this  kindly,  gentle,  industrious,  good-humoured 
race.  Surely  they  are  a  people  any  nation  may  be  proud 
to  have  fringing  its  otherwise  uninhabitable  coasts,  and 
should  be  eager  to  aid  and  conserve.  There  comes  a 
feeling  of  impotent  exasperation  to  me  when  I  realise 
how  many  white  men  there  are  who  speak  of  them  con- 
tinually with  the  utmost  contempt  and  see  them  dwindle 
with  entire  complacency.  The  same  thing  is  true  in  even 
more  marked  degree  about  the  Indians  of  the  interior: 
nine  tenths  of  the  land  will  never  have  other  inhabitant, 
of  that  I  am  convinced,  and  the  only  question  is,  shall 
it  be  an  inhabited  wilderness  or  an  uninhabited  wilder- 
ness? Here,  lodging  with  the  natives,  and,  I  make  no 
doubt,  living  off  them  too,  we  found  a  queer,  skulking 
white  man  whom  I  had  met  in  several  different  sections 
of  interior  Alaska,  known  as  "Snow-shoe  Joe"  or  "The 
Frozen  Hobo."     The  arctic  regions  one  would  esteem  a 


THE  U.   S.   SIGNAL-CORPS  135 

poor  place  for  the  hobo,  but  this  man  manages  to  eke 
out  an  existence,  if  not  to  flourish,  therein.  Work  he 
will  not  under  any  circumstances,  but  subsists  on  the 
hospitality  of  the  whites  until  he  has  entirely  worn  it 
out  and  then  removes  to  the  natives,  mushing  from 
camp  to  camp  and  "bumming"  his  way  as  he  goes. 
He  was  on  his  way  to  Saint  Michael,  he  told  me  with 
perfect  gravity,  "to  get  work." 

Before  dark  we  had  reached  our  destination  for  the 
night  at  the  Old  Woman  Mountain,  the  divide  between 
the  waters  of  the  Yukon  and  the  waters  of  Norton  Sound, 
and  were  kindly  received  and  well  treated  at  the  tele- 
graph station,  the  only  resort  on  this  portage  for  weary 
travellers.  Here  is  surely  a  lonely  post.  For  reasons 
connected  with  the  maintenance  of  the  wires  and  the 
keeping  open  of  communications,  it  is  necessary  to  have 
telegraph  stations  every  forty  or  fifty  miles,  each  with 
two  or  three  men  and  a  dog  team,  and  shelter  cabins 
about  half-way  between  stations.  A  wind  that  blows  a 
tree  down  in  the  narrow  right-of-way  cut  through  the 
forest — for  we  were  come  to  forest  again — or  a  heavy 
snowfall  that  loads  branches  until  they  fall  across  the 
wires,  a  post  that  comes  up  out  of  its  hole  as  the  thawing 
of  spring  heaves  the  ground  around  it,  or  the  caving  of 
the  bank  of  a  stream  along  which  the  line  passes — any 
one  of  a  dozen  such  happenings  anywhere  along  its  thou- 
sand miles  of  course,  may  put  the  entire  inland  telegraph 
system  out  of  operation;  and  the  young  men  in  whose 
section  the  interruption  occurs — they  have  a  means  of 
determining  that — must  get  out  at  once,  find  the  seat  of 


136    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

the  trouble  and  repair  it.  In  all  sorts  of  weather,  unless 
the  thermometer  be  below  — 40°,  out  they  must  go. 

It  may  be  doubted  if  any  other  army  in  the  world 
ever  constructed  and  maintained  a  permanent  telegraph 
line  under  such  arduous  conditions.  It  has  been  the 
army*s  one  contribution  to  Alaska,  the  one  justification 
for  the  enormous  expense  of  maintaining  army  posts  in 
the  interior.  Indeed  it  is  often  said  by  those  who  feel 
keenly  the  neglect  of  the  territory  by  the  general  govern- 
ment that  this  telegraph  system  is  the  one  contribution 
of  the  United  States  to  Alaska.  It  is  certainly  a  great 
public  convenience  and  has  assisted  very  materially  in 
such  development  as  the  country  has  made.  The  men 
of  the  signal-corps  deserve  great  credit  for  the  faithful, 
dogged  way  in  which  they  have  carried  out  year  after 
year  their  difficult  and  hazardous  work,  and  often  and 
often  the  weather-stressed  traveller  has  been  grateful  for 
the  hospitality  which  their  cabins  have  afforded  him. 

They  have  not  been  an  unmixed  blessing  to  the  coun- 
try; soldiers  do  not  usually  represent  the  highest  morale 
of  the  nation,  and  though  the  signal-corps  is  in  some 
respect  a  picked  corps,  yet  the  men  are  soldiers,  with 
many  of  the  soldier  characteristics.  Too  often  a  remote 
telegraph  station  has  been  a  little  centre  of  drunkenness, 
gambling,  and  debauchery  with  a  little  circumference  of 
native  men  and  women,  and  while  some  of  the  officers  of 
the  corps  have  been  willing  and  anxious  to  do  all  in  their 
power  to  suppress  this  sort  of  thing  in  their  scattered 
and  difficult  commands,  others  have  been  jealous  only 
for  the  technical  efficiency  of  their  work. 


MORE  SNOW  137 

There  are  many  allowances  to  be  made  for  young  men 
taken  from  the  society  of  their  kind  and  thrust  out  hun- 
dreds of  miles  in  the  wilderness  to  sit  down  for  a  year  or 
two  at  one  of  these  isolated  spots.  They  may  see  no 
women  save  those  amongst  a  straggling  band  of  Indians 
for  the  whole  time  of  their  exile ;  they  may  see  no  white 
man  save  a  mail-carrier — and  in  many  places  not  even  a 
mail-carrier — for  weeks  together.  Time  sometimes  hangs 
very  heavily  on  their  hands,  for  trees  are  not  always 
blowing  down,  nor  wires  snapping  through  the  tension  of 
the  cold,  and  at  some  stations  there  will  not  be  a  dozen 
telegraph  messages  sent  the  whole  winter  through.  If  a 
young  man  be  at  all  ambitious  of  self-improvement,  here 
is  splendid  opportunity  of  leisure,  but  a  great  many  are 
not  at  all  so  disposed.  Character,  except  the  most  firmly 
founded,  is  apt  to  deteriorate  under  such  circumstances; 
standards  of  conduct  to  be  lowered.  And  what  is  here 
written  of  the  young  men  of  the  signal-corps  may  well 
apply  in  great  measure  to  a  large  proportion  of  all  the 
white  men  in  the  country. 

The  "eighty-mile  portage"  we  had  heard  of  at  Nome 
became  ninety  miles  at  Unalaklik,  and  added  another  five 
to  itself  here,  so  that  although  we  had  travelled  forty- 
two  miles  that  day  we  were  told  that  there  were  yet  fifty- 
three  ahead  before  we  reached  the  Yukon. 

So  we  decided  not  to  attempt  it  in  one  day  and  to 
rest  the  next  night  at  a  "repair  cabin"  twenty-eight  miles 
farther,  making  a  somewhat  late  start  in  view  of  a  short 
journey.  It  had  been  wiser  to  have  started  early.  Dur- 
ing our  night  at  Old  Woman  Mountain  some  three  inches 


138    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

of  snow  fell,  and  we  found  as  we  descended  the  Yukon 
slope  that  all  the  moisture  that  had  fallen  upon  us  as 
rain  the  previous  day  had  fallen  on  this  side  as  snow. 
The  trail  was  filled  full  and  buried,  and  so  soft  and  mushy 
was  it  that  although  snow-shoes  were  badly  needed  they 
were  impossible.  The  snow  clung  to  them  and  came  off 
the  ground  with  them  in  heavy,  clogging  masses  every 
time  they  were  lifted.  It  clung  to  the  sled,  to  the  har- 
ness, to  the  dogs'  feet,  to  everything  that  touched  it;  it 
gathered  in  ever-increasing  snowballs  on  the  long  hair 
of  the  dogs.  Travelling  in  warm  weather  in  loose,  new 
snow  is  most  disagreeable  work.  We  plugged  along  for 
twenty  miles,  and  then  in  the  dark  in  an  open  country 
with  little  patches  of  scattering  spruce,  had  great  trouble 
in  finding  the  trail  at  all. 

At  last  we  could  find  it  no  longer,  and  when  there  was 
no  hope  of  reaching  the  cabin  that  night  we  made  a  camp. 
We  had  now  no  tent  or  stove  with  us,  so  a  *' Siwash  camp" 
in  the  open  was  the  best  we  could  do,  and  a  wet,  misera- 
ble camp  it  was.  By  inexcusable  carelessness  on  my  part, 
candles  had  been  altogether  forgotten  in  the  replenishing 
of  the  supplies,  and  a  little  piece  an  inch  long  which  we 
found  loose  in  the  grub  box  was  all  that  we  possessed. 
Dogs  and  men  alike  exhausted  with  the  long  day's  sweat- 
ing struggle  through  the  deep  snow,  sleep  should  have 
come  soundly  and  soon.  It  did  to  the  rest,  but  I  lay 
awake  the  night  through.  The  easy,  riding  travel  of  the 
preceding  week  had  been  a  poor  preparation  for  to-day's 
incessant  toil,  and  I  was  too  tired  to  sleep.  In  the  morn- 
ing our  bedding  was  covered  with  a  couple  of  inches  of 


THE  YUKON  ONCE  MORE  139 

new  snow.  My  companion  got  up  at  daylight  and  made 
a  journey  of  investigation  ahead,  following  the  trail  bet- 
ter, but  not  finding  the  cabin.  We  had  thought  our- 
selves within  a  mile  or  two  of  it,  but  evidently  were 
farther  away.  However,  when  we  had  eaten  a  hasty 
breakfast  and  hitched  up  and  had  gone  along  the  trail 
that  had  been  broken  that  morning  to  its  end,  ten  yards 
beyond  the  place  where  my  companion  had  turned  back, 
we  came  in  sight  of  the  cabin,  and  there  we  lay  and 
rested  and  dried  things  out  all  day  and  spent  the  next 
night.  During  the  day  there  came  a  team  from  Kaltag, 
and  once  again  we  enjoyed  the  delight  of  receiving,  and 
at  the  same  time  conferring,  the  richest  gift  and  greatest 
possible  benefit  to  the  traveller — a  trail. 

The  next  evening  as  it  drew  towards  dark,  after  an- 
other day  of  soft,  warm  disagreeable  travel,  we  reached 
the  end  of  the  portage,  and  the  broad  white  Yukon 
stretched  before  us  once  more.  Our  hearts  leaped  up  and 
I  think  the  dogs'  hearts  leaped  up  also  at  the  sight.  I 
called  to  Nanook  as  we  stopped  on  the  bank,  "Nanook, 
there's  the  good  old  Yukon  again!"  and  he  lifted  his 
voice  in  that  intelligent,  significant  bark  that  surely 
meant  that  he  saw  and  understood.  We  had  left  the 
Yukon  on  the  15th  of  December  at  Fort  Yukon;  we 
reached  it  again  on  the  23  d  of  March  at  Kaltag,  more 
than  six  hundred  miles  lower  down.  We  had  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  miles  of  travel  on  its  surface  before  us, 
and  then  close  to  another  two  hundred  and  fifty  up  the 
Tanana  River  to  Fairbanks.  But  alas!  for  the  fine 
Yukon  trail  we  had  promised  ourselves!    As  we  looked 


I40    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

out  across  the  broad  river  there  was  no  narrow,  dark  line 
undulating  over  its  surface,  nor  even  a  faint,  continuous 
inequality  to  hint  that  trail  had  been,  on  snow  *'less 
hideously  serene";  its  perfect  smoothness  and  whiteness 
were  unscarred  and  unsullied.  The  trail  was  wiped  out 
and  swallowed  up  by  the  late  snows  and  winds. 

There  is  little  interest  in  lingering  over  the  long, 
laborious,  monotonous  grind  up  that  river  on  show-shoes. 
When  one  has  looked  forward  to  pleasant,  quick  travel, 
the  disappointment  at  slow,  heavy  plodding  is  the  keener. 
The  first  little  bit  of  trail  we  had  was  as  we  approached 
Nulato  two  days  later  on  a  Sunday  morning,  and  it  was 
made  by  the  villagers  from  below  going  up  to  church  at 
the  Roman  Catholic  mission.  We  arrived  in  time  for  ser- 
vice, and  enjoyed  the  natives'  voices  raised  in  the  Latin 
chants  as  well  as  in  hymns  wisely  put  into  the  vernacular. 
It  is  historically  a  little  curious  to  find  Roman  Catholic 
natives  singing  praises  in  their  own  tongue,  and  Prot- 
estant missions,  like  those  on  the  Kobuk  and  Kotzebue 
Sound,  using  a  language  "not  understanded  of  the  peo- 
ple." The  day  w^s  the  Feast  of  the  Annunciation  as 
well  as  Sunday,  and  there  was  some  special  decorating  of 
the  church  and  perhaps  some  elaboration  of  the  music. 
Here  for  the  first  and  only  time  I  listened  to  a  white  man  so 
fluent  and  vigorous  in  the  native  tongue  that  he  gave  one 
the  impression  of  eloquence.  Father  Jette  of  the  Society 
of  Jesus  is  the  most  distinguished  scholar  in  Alaska.  He 
is  the  chief  authority  on  the  native  language,  and  man- 
ners and  customs,  beliefs  and  traditions  of  the  Middle 
Yukon,  and   has   brought   to   the   patient,  enthusiastic 


A  LEARNED  JESUIT  141 

labour  of  years  the  skill  of  the  trained  philologist.  It  is 
said  by  the  Indians  that  he  knows  more  of  the  Indian 
language  than  any  one  of  them  does,  and  this  is  not  hard 
to  believe  when  it  is  understood  that  he  has  systematically 
gleaned  his  knowledge  from  widely  scattered  segments  of 
tribes,  jotting  down  in  his  note-books  old  forms  of  speech 
lingering  amongst  isolated  communities,  and  legends  and 
folk-lore  stories  still  remembered  by  the  aged  but  not 
much  repeated  nowadays;  always  keen  to  add  to  his 
store  or  to  verify  or  disprove  some  etymological  conjecture 
that  has  occurred  to  his  fertile  mind.  His  work  is  recog- 
nised by  the  ethnological  societies  of  Europe,  and  much 
of  his  collected  material  has  been  printed  in  their  techni- 
cal journals. 

A  man  of  wide  general  culture,  master  of  three  or  four 
modern,  as  well  as  the  classic,  languages,  a  mathematician, 
a  writer  of  beautiful,  clear  English,  although  it  is  not  his 
mother  tongue,  he  carries  it  with  the  modesty,  the  broad- 
minded  tolerance,  the  easy  urbanity  that  always  adorn, 
though  they  by  no  means  always  accompany,  the  pro- 
fession of  the  scholar;  and  one  is  better  able  to  under- 
stand after  some  years'  acquaintance  with  such  a  man, 
after  falling  under  the  authority  of  his  learning  and  the 
charm  of  his  courtesy,  the  wonderful  power  which  the 
society  he  belongs  to  has  wielded  in  the  world.  If  such 
devotion  to  the  instruction  of  the  ignorant  as  was  de- 
scribed at  the  mission  on  the  middle  Kobuk  be  praise- 
worthy, by  how  much  the  more  is  one  moved  to  admira- 
tion at  the  spectacle  of  this  man,  who  might  fill  with 
credit  any  one  of  half  a  dozen  professional  chairs  at  the 


142    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

ordinary  college,  gladly  consecrating  his  life  to  the  teach- 
ing of  an  Indian  school! 

Hearing  an  interest  expressed  in  the  massacre  which 
took  place  at  Nulato  in  1851,  Father  Jette  offered  to 
accompany  us  to  the  site  of  that  occurrence,  about  a  mile 
away.  It  stands  out  prominently  in  the  history  of  a 
country  that  has  been  singularly  free  from  bloodshed  and 
outrage,  and  its  date  is  the  notable  date  of  the  middle 
river,  as  the  establishment  of  the  post  at  Fort  Yukon  by 
the  Hudson  Bay  Company  in  1846  is  the  notable  date 
of  the  upper  river.  They  are  fixed  points  in  Indian  chro- 
nology by  which  it  is  possible  to  approximate  other  dates 
and  to  reach  an  estimate  of  the  ages  of  old  people. 

Much  has  been  written  about  the  Nulato  massacre, 
and  the  accounts  vary  in  many  particulars.  The  Rus- 
sian post  here  was  first  established  by  Malakof  in  1838. 
Burned  during  his  absence  by  the  Indians,  it  was  re-estab- 
lished by  Lieutenant  Zagoskin  of  the  Russian  navy  in 
1842.  The  extortions  and  cruelties  of  his  successor, 
Deerzhavin,  complicated  by  a  standing  feud  between 
two  native  tribes,  and  probably  having  the  rival  powers 
of  certain  medicine-men  as  the  match  to  the  mine, 
brought  about  the  destruction  of  the  place  and  the  death 
of  all  its  inhabitants,  white  and  native,  by  a  sudden 
treacherous  attack  of  the  Koyukuk  Indians.  It  happened 
that  Lieutenant  Barnard  of  the  British  navy,  detached 
from  a  war-ship  lying  at  Saint  Michael  to  journey  up  the 
river  and  make  inquiries  of  the  Koyukuk  natives  as  to 
wandering  white  men,  survivors  of  Sir  John  Franklin's 
expedition,  who  might  have  been  seen  or  heard  of  by  them, 


THE  NULATO  MASSACRE  143 

was  staying  at  the  post  at  the  time  and  perished  in  the 
general  massacre.  His  grave,  with  a  headboard  bearing 
a  Latin  inscription,  is  neatly  kept  up  by  the  Jesuit  priests 
at  Nulato. 

In  the  last  few  years  the  river  has  been  invading  the 
bank  upon  which  the  old  village  stood,  and  as  the  earth 
caves  in  relics  of  the  slaughter  and  burning  come  to  light. 
Old  copper  kettles  and  samovars,  buttons  and  glass  beads, 
all  sorts  of  metal  vessels  and  implements  have  been  sorted 
out  from  charred  wood  and  ashes,  together  with  numer- 
ous skulls  and  quantities  of  bones.  One  of  the  most  in- 
teresting of  these  relics  was  a  brass  button  from  an  official 
coat,  with  the  Russian  crowned  double-headed  eagle  on 
the  face,  and  on  the  back,  upon  examination  with  a  lens, 
the  word  "Birmingham." 

Half  the  day  serving  for  our  day  of  rest  this  week,  we 
were  up  and  ready  to  start  early  the  next  morning,  but 
so  violent  a  wind  was  blowing  from  the  southeast  that 
we  decided  to  remain,  and  the  clatter  of  the  corrugated 
iron  roof  and  the  whirling  whiteness  outside  the  windows 
made  us  glad  to  be  in  shelter.  As  the  day  advanced  the 
wind  increased  to  almost  hurricane  force,  and  the  two- 
story  house  in  which  we  lay  began  to  rock  in  such  a  man- 
ner as  to  make  the  proprietor  alarmed  for  his  dwelling. 

There  was  an  "independent"  trading-post  at  this 
village  which  seemed  to  present  an  object-lesson  in  ra- 
pacity and  greed.  There  was  not  an  article  of  standard 
quality  in  the  store;  the  clothing  was  the  most  rascally 
shoddy,  the  canned  goods  of  the  poorest  brands;  the 
whole  stock  the  cheapest  stuff  that  could  possibly  be 


144    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

bought  at  bargain  prices  "outside,"  yet  the  prices  were 
higher  even  than  those  that  prevail  in  Alaska  for  the 
best  merchandise.  Loud  complaints  are  often  made 
against  the  commercial  corporation  which  does  the  great 
bulk  of  the  business  in  interior  Alaska,  yet  if  the  writer 
had  to  choose  whether  he  would  be  in  the  hands  of  that 
company  or  in  the  hands  of  an  "independent"  trader, 
he  would  unhesitatingly  cast  in  his  lot  with  the  com- 
pany. The  independent  trader  makes  m-oney,  some- 
times makes  large  money,  and  makes  it  fairly  easily,  but 
the  calling  seems  to  appeal  mainly,  if  not  wholly,  to  men 
of  low  character  and  no  conscience.  There  are  few  things 
that  would  redound  more  to  the  benefit  of  the  Indian 
than  a  great  improvement  in  the  character  of  the  men 
with  whom  he  is  compelled  to  do  business. 

The  wind  had  subsided  by  the  next  morning  and  had 
been  of  benefit  rather  than  injury  to  us,  for  it  had  blown 
the  accumulated  new  snow  off  the  old  trail  so  that  it  was 
possible  to  perceive  and  follow  it.  But  what  was  our 
surprise  to  find,  with  the  recollection  of  that  rattling  roof 
and  swaying  building  fresh  in  our  minds,  that  ten  miles 
away  there  had  been  no  wind  at  all!  The  snow  lay  un- 
disturbed on  every  twig  and  bough  from  which  the  gen- 
tlest breeze  would  have  dislodged  it.  One  never  ceases 
to  wonder  at  what,  for  want  of  a  better  word,  must  be 
called  the  localness  of  much  of  the  weather  in  Alaska — 
though,  for  that  matter,  in  all  probability  it  is  characteris- 
tic of  weather  in  all  countries.  The  habit  of  continual 
outdoor  travel  gives  scope  as  well  as  edge  to  one's  ob- 
servation of  such  things  which  a  life  in  one  place  denies. 


SNOW  GLASSES  145 

That  wind-storm  had  cut  a  clean  swath  across  the  Yukon 
valley.  Yet  it  seems  strange  that  so  violent  a  distur- 
bance could  take  place  without  affecting  and,  to  some 
extent,  agitating  the  atmosphere  for  many  miles  adjacent. 
So,  sometimes  in  snow-storm,  sometimes  in  wind, 
always  on  snow-shoes  and  often  hard  put  to  it  to  find  and 
follow  the  trail  at  all,  we  struggled  on  for  two  or  three 
days  more,  sleeping  one  night  at  a  wood-chopper's  hut, 
another  in  a  telegraph  cabin  crowded  with  foul-mouthed 
infantrymen  sent  out  to  repair  the  extensive  damage  of 
the  recent  storm  and  none  too  pleased  at  the  detail,  we 
plodded  our  weary  way  up  that  interminable  river.  At 
last  we  met  the  mail-man,  that  ever-welcome  person  on 
the  Alaskan  trail,  and  his  track  greatly  lightened  our 
labour.  By  his  permission  we  broke  into  his  padlocked 
cabin  that  night  by  the  skilful  application  of  an  axe-edge 
to  a  link  of  the  chain,  and  were  more  comfortable  than 
we  had  been  for  some  time.  Past  the  mouth  of  the 
Koyukuk,  past  Grimcop,  past  Lowden,  past  Melozikaket 
to  Kokrine's  and  Mouse  Point,  we  plugged  along,  making 
twenty-two  miles  one  day  and  thirty  another  and  then 
dropping  again  to  eighteen.  The  temperature  dropped 
to  zero,  and  a  keen  wind  made  it  necessary  to  keep  the 
nose  continually  covered.  At  this  time  of  year  the  cov- 
ering of  the  nose  involves  a  fresh  annoyance,  for  it  deflects 
the  breath  upward,  and  the  moisture  of  it  continually  con- 
denses on  the  snow  glasses,  which  means  continual  wip- 
ing. A  stick  of  some  sort  of  waxy  compound  to  be 
rubbed  upon  the  glass,  bought  in  New  York  as  a  preven- 
tive of  the  deposit  of  moisture,  proved  entirely  useless. 


146    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

In  this  respect  the  Esquimau  snow  goggle,  which  is  sim- 
ply a  piece  of  wood  hollowed  out  into  a  cup  and  illu- 
minated by  narrow  slits,  has  advantage  over  any  shape  or 
kind  of  glass  protection.  A  French  metal  device  of  the 
same  order  that  is  advertised  in  the  dealer's  catalogues 
was  found  to  fail,  perhaps  owing  to  a  wrong  optical  ar- 
rangement of  the  slits.  It  caused  an  eye-strain  that 
brought  on  headache.  But  if  that  principle  could  be  sci- 
entifically worked  out  and  such  a  device  perfected,  it 
would  be  a  boon  to  the  traveller  over  sun-lit  snow,  for 
it  would  do  away  with  glass  altogether,  with  its  two  chief 
objections — its  fragility  and  its  opacity  when  covered 
with  vapour. 

The  indispensability  of  some  eye  protection  when 
travelling  in  the  late  winter,  and  the  serious  consequences 
that  follow  its  neglect,  were  once  again  demonstrated 
at  Mouse  Point.  The  road-house  was  crowded  with 
"busted"  stampeders  coming  out  of  the  Nowikaket 
country.  There  had  been  a  report  of  a  rich  "strike"  on 
a  creek  of  the  Nowitna,  late  the  previous  fall,  and  a  num- 
ber of  men  from  other  camps — some  from  as  far  as  Nome 
— had  gone  in  there  with  "outfits"  for  the  winter.  The 
stampede  had  been  a  failure;  no  gold  was  found;  there 
was  much  indignant  assertion  that  no  gold  ever  had 
been  found  and  that  the  reported  "strike"  was  a  "fake," 
though  to  what  end  or  profit  such  a  "fake"  stampede 
should  be  caused,  unless  by  some  neighbouring  trader, 
it  is  hard  to  understand;  and  here  were  the  stampeders 
streaming  out  again,  a  ragged,  unkempt,  sorry-looking 
crowd  in  every  variety  of  worn-out  arctic  toggery,  many 


SNOW-BLINDNESS  147 

of  them  suffering  from  acute  snow-blindness.  It  is  sur- 
prising tliat  even  old-timers  will  go  out  in  the  hills  for 
the  whole  winter  without  providing  themselves  with  pro- 
tection against  the  glare  of  the  sun  which  they  know  will 
inevitably  assail  their  eyes  before  the  spring,  yet  so  it  is; 
and  this  lack  of  forethought  is  not  confined  to  the  mat- 
ter of  snow  glasses:  the  first  half  dozen  men  we  received 
in  Saint  Matthew's  Hospital  at  Fairbanks  suffering  from 
severely  frozen  feet  were  all  old-timers  grown  careless. 

Father  Ragarou,  another  Jesuit  priest  of  another  type, 
reached  the  road-house  from  the  opposite  direction  about 
the  same  time  we  did,  and  I  was  interested  in  watching 
his  treatment  of  the  inflamed  eyes.  Upon  a  disk  of  lead 
he  folded  a  little  piece  of  cotton  cloth  in  the  shape  of  a 
tent,  and,  setting  fire  to  it,  allowed  it  to  burn  out  com- 
pletely. Then  with  a  wet  camel's-hair  brush  he  gathered 
up  the  slight  yellow  residuum  of  the  combustion  and 
painted  it  over  the  eyes,  holding  the  lids  open  with  thumb 
and  finger  and  drawing  the  brush  through  and  through. 
An  incredulous  spectator,  noticing  the  sacred  monogram 
neatly  stamped  upon  the  disk  of  lead,  made  some  sneering 
remark  to  me  about  "Romish  superstition,"  but  remem- 
bering the  Jesuit's  bark,  and  recalling  that  1  had  in  my 
writing-case  at  that  moment  a  letter  I  had  brought  all 
the  way  from  the  Koyukuk  addressed  to  this  very  priest, 
begging  for  a  further  supply  of  a  pile  ointment  that  had 
proved  efficacious,  I  held  my  peace.  Whether  it  be  an 
oxide  or  a  carbonate,  or  some  salt  that  is  formed  by  the 
combustion,  I  am  not  chemist  enough  to  know,  but  I 
saw  man  after  man  relieved  by  this  application.   Even  the 


148    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

scoffer  was  convinced  there  was  merit  in  the  treatment, 
though  stoutly  protesting  that  "them  letters"  had  noth- 
ing to  do  with  it ;  which  nobody  took  the  trouble  to  argue 
with  him.  My  own  custom — we  are  all  of  us  doctors  of 
a  sort  in  this  country — is  to  instil  a  few  drops  of  a  five- 
per-cent  solution  of  cocaine,  which  gives  immediate  tem- 
porary relief,  and  then  apply  frequent  washes  of  boric 
acid,  bandaging  up  the  eyes  completely  in  bad  cases  by 
cloths  kept  wet  with  the  solution.  But  I  do  not  know 
that  it  brings  better  result  than  the  lead  treatment. 
Certainly  it  is  a  matter  in  which  an  ounce  of  any  sort  of 
prevention  is  better  than  a  pound  of  any  sort  of  cure. 
The  affection  is  a  serious  one,  being  nothing  more  or  less 
than  acute  ophthalmia;  the  pain  is  very  severe,  and  re- 
peated attacks  are  said  to  bring  permanent  weakness  of 
the  eyes.  Smoked  glasses  or  goggles,*  veils  of  green  or 
blue  or  black,  even  a  crescent  eye-shade  cut  out  of  a 
piece  of  birch-bark  or  cardboard  and  blackened  on  its 
under-side  with  charcoal,  will  prevent  the  hours  and  some- 
times days  of  torture  which  this  distemper  entails. 

For  a  few  miles  we  had  the  trail  of  the  stampeders, 
but  when  that  crossed  the  river  we  put  on  our  snow-shoes 
and  settled  to  the  steady  grind  once  more.  A  day's 
mush  brought  us  to  "The  Birches,"  and  another  to  Gold 
Mountain.  Between  the  two  places  there  was  a  portage, 
and  the  trail  thereon,  protected  by  the  timber,  was  good. 
We  longed  for  the  time  when  all  trails  in  Alaska  shall  be 
taken  off  the  rivers  and  cut  in  the  protecting  forest. 

*  This  was  written  before  the  writer  learned  the  superior  protection 
afforded  by  amber  glass. 


HORSES  AND  MULES  149 

But  we  had  gone  but  a  mile  along  this  good  trail  when 
our  hearts  sank,  for  we  saw  ahead  of  us  a  procession  of 
army  mules  packing  supplies  from  Fort  Gibbon  to  the 
telegraph  repair  parties.  We  pulled  out  into  the  snow 
that  the  mules  might  pass,  and  the  soldiers  said  no  word, 
for  they  knew  just  how  we  felt,  until  the  last  soldier 
leading  the  last  mule  was  going  by,  and  he  turned  round 
and  said:  "And  her  name  was  Maud!"  It  was  in  the 
height  of  Opper's  popularity,  his  "comic  supplements" 
the  chief  dependence  of  the  road-houses  for  wall-paper. 
The  reference  was  so  apposite  that  we  burst  into  laughter, 
but  there  was  nothing  funny  about  the  devastation  that 
had  been  wrought.  That  good  trail  was  all  gone — the 
bottom  pounded  out  of  it — and  nothing  was  left  but  a 
ploughed  lane  punched  full  of  sink-holes.  We  had  no 
trouble  following  the  trail  on  the  river  after  this  en- 
counter, but  it  had  been  almost  as  easy  going  to  have 
struck  out  for  ourselves  in  the  unbroken  snow  of  the 
winter.  It  is  hard  to  make  outsiders  understand  how  a 
man  who  loves  all  animals  may  come  to  hate  horses  and 
mules,  particularly  mules,  in  this  country.  Our  travel- 
ling is  above  all  a  matter  of  surface.  Distance  counts  and 
weather  counts,  but  surface  counts  for  more  than  either. 
See  how  fast  we  came  across  the  Seward  Peninsula  in  the 
most  distressing  weather  imaginable!  A  well-used  dog 
trail  becomes  so  hard  and  smooth  that  it  offers  scarce  any 
resistance  to  the  passage  of  the  sled,  and  for  walking  or 
running  over  in  moccasins  or  mukluks  is  the  most  perfect 
surface  imaginable.  The  more  it  is  used  the  better  it 
becomes.     But  put  a  horse  on  that  trail  and  in  one  pas- 


I50    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

sage  it  is  ruined.  The  iron-shod  hoofs  break  through  the 
crust  at  every  step  and  throw  up  the  broken  pieces  as 
they  are  withdrawn.  With  mules  it  is  even  worse;  the 
holes  they  punch  are  deeper  and  sharper.  Neither  man 
nor  dog  can  pass  over  it  again  in  comfort.  One  slips  and 
slides  about  at  every  step,  the  leg  leaders  and  ankle 
sinews  are  strained,  the  soles  of  the  feet,  though  hardened 
by  a  thousand  miles  in  moccasins,  become  sore  and  in- 
flamed, and  at  night  there  is  a  new  sort  of  weariness  that 
only  a  horse-ruined  trail  gives.  As  a  rule,  the  dog  trail 
is  of  so  little  service  to  the  horse  or  mule  that  it  were  as 
cheap  to  break  out  a  new  one  in  the  snow,  and  it  is  this 
knowledge  that  exasperates  the  dog  musher.  So  there 
is  not  much  love  lost  between  the  horse  man  and  the 
dog  man  in  Alaska. 

At  last,  after  a  night  at  "Old  Station,"  we  came  in 
sight  of  Tanana,  where  is  Fort  Gibbon,  the  one  the  name 
of  the  town  and  the  post-office,  the  other  the  name  of 
the  military  post  and  the  telegraph  office.  The  military 
authorities  refuse  to  call  their  post  "Fort  Tanana"  and 
the  postal  authorities  refuse  to  allow  the  town  post-office 
to  be  called  "Fort  Gibbon,"  so  there  they  He,  cheek  by 
jowl,  two  separate  places  with  a  fence  between  them — a 
source  of  endless  confusion.  A  letter  addressed  to  Fort 
Gibbon  is  likely  to  go  astray  and  a  telegram  addressed 
to  Tanana  to  be  refused.  Stretching  along  a  mile  and  a 
half  of  river  bank,  and  beginning  to  come  into  view  ten 
miles  before  they  are  reached,  the  military  and  commer- 
cial structures  gradually  separate  themselves.  Here  to 
the  left  are  the  ugly  frame  buildings — all  painted  yellow — 


ARMY  POSTS  AND  NATIVES  151 

barracks,  canteen,  officers*  quarters,  hospital,  commis- 
sariat, and  so  on.  Two  clumsy  water-towers  give  height 
without  dignity — a  quality  denied  to  military  architec- 
ture in  Alaska.  To  the  right  the  town  begins,  and  an 
irregular  row  of  one  and  two  story  buildings,  stores, 
warehouses,  drinking  shops,  straggle  along  the  water- 
front. 

Unlike  most  towns  in  interior  Alaska,  Tanana  does 
not  depend  upon  an  adjacent  mining  camp.  It  owes  its 
existence  first  to  its  geographical  position  as  the  central 
point  of  interior  Alaska,  at  the  confluence  of  the  Tanana 
and  Yukon  Rivers.  Most  of  the  freight  and  passenger 
traffic  for  Fairbanks  and  the  upper  river  is  transshipped  at 
Tanana,  and  extensive  stocks  of  merchandise  are  main- 
tained there.  The  army  post  is  the  other  important 
factor  in  the  town's  prosperity,  and  is  especially  account- 
able for  the  number  of  saloons.  Not  only  the  soldiers, 
but  many  civilian  employees,  are  supported  by  the  post, 
and  when  it  is  understood  that  three  thousand  cords  of 
wood  are  burned  annually  in  the  military  reservation,  it 
will  be  seen  that  quite  a  number  of  men  must  find  work 
as  choppers  and  haulers  for  the  wood  contractors.  Set- 
ting aside  the  maintenance  of  the  telegraph  service,  which 
has  already  been  referred  to,  it  may  be  said  without  un- 
fairness that  the  salient  activities  of  the  army  in  the  in- 
terior of  Alaska  are  the  consumption  of  whisky  and  wood. 
There  is  no  opportunity  for  military  training — for  more 
than  six  months  in  the  year  it  is  impossible  to  drill  out- 
doors— and  the  officers  complain  of  the  retrogression  of 
their  men  in  all  soldierly  accomplishments  during  the 


152    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

two  years'  detail  In  Alaska.  Whether  the  prosperity  of 
the  liquor  dealer  be  in  any  real  sense  the  prosperity  of 
the  country,  and  whether  the  rapid  destruction  of  the 
forest  be  compensated  for  by  the  wages  paid  to  its  de- 
stroyers, may  reasonably  be  doubted. 

Three  miles  away  is  a  considerable  native  village 
where  the  mission  of  Our  Saviour  of  the  Episcopal  Church 
is  situated,  with  an  attractive  church  building  and  a  pic- 
turesque graveyard.  The  evil  influence  which  the  town 
and  the  army  post  have  exerted  upon  the  Indians  finds 
its  ultimate  expression  in  the  growth  of  the  graveyard 
and  the  dwindling  of  the  village. 

This  point  at  the  junction  of  the  two  rivers  was  an 
important  place  for  the  inhabitants  of  interior  Alaska 
ages  before  the  white  man  reached  the  country.  Tribes 
from  all  the  middle  Yukon,  from  the  lower  Yukon,  from 
the  Tanana,  from  the  upper  Kuskokwim  met  here  for 
trading  and  for  general  festivity.  It  is  impossible  now- 
adays to  determine  when  first  the  white  man's  mer- 
chandise began  to  penetrate  into  this  country,  but  it 
was  long  before  the  white  man  came  himself.  Such 
prized  and  portable  articles  as  axes  and  knives  passed 
from  hand  to  hand  and  from  tribe  to  tribe  over  many 
hundreds  of  miles.  Captain  Cook,  in  1778,  found  im- 
plements of  white  man's  make  in  the  hands  of  the  na- 
tives of  the  great  inlet  that  was  named  for  him  after 
his  death,  and  they  pointed  to  the  Far  East  as  the  direc- 
tion whence  they  had  come.  He  judged  that  they  had 
been  brought  from  the  Hudson  Bay  factories  clean  across 
the  continent.     There  are  many  Indians  still  living  who 


WHISKY-PEDDLERS  153 

remember  when  they  saw  the  first  white  man,  and  some 
were  well  grown  at  the  time,  but  dihgent  inquiry  has 
failed  to  discover  one  who  ever  saw  a  stone  axe  used, 
though  some  old  men  have  been  found  who  declared  that 
their  fathers,  when  young,  used  that  implement.  Traces 
have  been  discovered  of  the  importation  of  edge-tools 
from  four  directions — from  the  mouth  of  the  Yukon; 
from  the  Lynn  Canal,  by  way  of  the  headwaters  of  the 
Yukon;  from  the  Prince  William  Sound,  by  way  of  the 
headwaters  of  the  Tanana;  as  well  as  from  the  Hudson 
Bay  posts  in  the  Canadian  Northwest,  by  way  of  the 
Porcupine  River. 

When  the  Russians  established  themselves  at  Nulato 
in  1842,  and  the  Hudson  Bay  Company  put  a  post  at 
Fort  Yukon  in  1846,  Nuchalawoya,  as  Tanana  was 
called,  became  the  scene  of  commercial  rivalry,  and  it 
is  said  that  by  the  meeting  of  the  agents  and  voyageurs 
of  the  two  companies  at  this  point  the  identity  of  the 
Yukon  and  Quikpak  Rivers  was  discovered. 

The  stories  that  linger  with  the  village  ancients  of  the 
great  numbers  of  Indians  who  used  to  inhabit  the  country 
are  doubtless  based  upon  recollections  of  the  gathering 
at  old  Nuchalawoya,  when  furs  were  brought  here  from 
far  and  wide,  when  there  was  no  other  place  of  mer- 
chandise in  mid-Alaska.  Now  almost  every  Indian  vil- 
lage has  a  trader  and  a  store.  That  the  race  has  dimin- 
ished, and  in  most  places  is  still  diminishing,  is  beyond 
question,  but  that  it  was  ever  very  largely  numerous  the 
natural  conditions  of  the  country  forbid  us  to  believe. 

During  the  Reverend  Jules  Prevost's  time  at  Tanana — 


154    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

and  he  was  in  residence  in  the  year  of  this  journey — from 
careful  vital  statistics  kept  during  two  periods  of  five 
years  each,  the  race  seemed  barely  to  be  holding  its  own; 
but  since  that  time  there  has  been  a  considerable  decline, 
coincident  with  the  increase  of  drunkenness  and  de- 
bauchery at  the  village  when  Mr.  Prevost's  firm  hand 
and  watchful  eye  were  withdrawn.  The  situation  tends 
to  grow  worse,  and  while  one  does  not  give  up  hope,  for 
that  would  mean  to  give  up  serious  effort,  the  outlook 
for  the  Indians  at  this  place  seems  unfavourable.  Two 
hundred  soldiers,  six  or  eight  liquor  shops, — the  num- 
ber varies  from  year  to  year, — three  miles  off  a  native 
village  of  perhaps  one  hundred  and  fifty  souls,  and  dot- 
ting those  intervening  miles  cabins  chiefly  occupied  by 
"bootleggers"  and  go-betweens — that  is  the  Tanana 
situation  in  a  nutshell.  The  men  desire  the  native  girls, 
and  the  liquor  is  largely  a  lure  to  get  them.  Tubercu- 
losis and  venereal  disease  are  rife,  and  the  two  make  a 
terribly  fatal  combination  amongst  Indians. 

It  was  good  to  enjoy  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Prevost's  hospi- 
tality, and  it  was  good  to  speak  through  such  an  admi- 
rable interpreter  as  Paul.  Something  more  than  intelli- 
gence and  knowledge  of  the  languages  are  required  to  make 
a  good  interpreter;  there  must  be  sympathy  and  the  ability 
to  take  fire.  With  such  an  interpreter,  leaping  at  the 
speaker's  thoughts,  carrying  himself  entirely  into  his 
changing  moods,  rising  to  vehemence  with  him  and  again 
dropping  to  gentleness,  forgetting  himself  in  his  identi- 
fication with  his  principal,  there  is  real  pleasure  in  speak- 
ing to  the  natives  who  hang  upon  his  vicarious  lips.     On 


CHENA  AND   FAIRBANKS  155 

the  other  hand,  one  of  the  most  intelligent  mission  inter- 
preters in  the  country  is  also  so  phlegmatic  in  disposition, 
so  lifeless  and  monotonous  in  his  speech,  and  particu- 
larly so  impassive  of  countenance,  that  he  reminds  one 
of  Napoleon's  saying  about  Talleyrand :  that  if  some  one 
kicked  him  behind  while  he  was  speaking  to  you  his  face 
would  give  no  sign  of  it  at  all. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  write  much  detail  of  the  two-hun- 
dred-mile journey  to  Fairbanks  up  the  Xanana  River. 
The  trail  was  then  wholly  on  the  river,  but  now  it  has 
been  taken  wholly  off,  as  every  Alaskan  musher  hopes 
some  day  will  be  done  with  all  trails.  The  region  about 
the  mouth  of  the  river  and  for  some  miles  up  is  one  of 
the  windiest  in  the  country,  and  there  is  always  trouble- 
some crossing  of  bare  sand-bars  and  of  ice  over  which 
sand  has  been  blown.  The  journey  hastens  to  its  close; 
men  and  dogs  alike  realise  it,  and  push  on  willingly  over 
longer  stages  than  they  had  before  attempted. 

Two  days  from  Tanana  we  were  luxuriating  in  the 
natural  hot  springs  near  Baker  Creek,  wallowing  in  the 
crude  wooden  vat,  when  "Daddy  Karstner"  had  shovelled 
enough  snow  in  to  make  entering  the  water  possible,  and 
emerging  ruddy  as  boiled  lobsters.  It  was  a  beautiful 
and  interesting  spot  then,  with  noble  groves  of  birch  and 
the  finest  grove  of  cottonwood-trees  in  Alaska — all  cut 
down  now — all  ruined  in  a  plunging  and  bounding  and 
quite  unsuccessful  attempt  to  make  a  "Health  Resort" 
of  the  place  for  the  "smart  set"  of  Fairbanks.  It  is  a 
scurvy  trick  of  Fortune  when  she  gives  large  wealth  to  a 
man  with  no  feeling  for  trees.     We  spent  Sunday  there 


156    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

and  roamed  over  the  curious  domain,  snow-free  amidst 
all  the  surrounding  snow,  rank  in  vegetation  amidst  the 
yet-lingering  winter  death;  and  then  we  wallowed  again. 

Tolovana,  Nenana,  and  then  one  long  run  of  fifty- 
four  miles,  the  longest  and  last  run  of  the  winter,  and — 
Chena  and  Fairbanks.  But  just  before  we  reached 
Chena,  as  we  passed  the  fish  camp  where  the  dogs  had 
been  boarded  the  previous  summer,  Nanook  stopped  the 
whole  team,  looked  up  at  the  bank  and  gave  utterance 
to  his  pronounced  five  barks  on  the  descending  scale. 
None  of  the  other  dogs  seemed  to  notice  or  recognise 
the  place,  but  Nanook  said  as  plainly  as  if  he  had  uttered 
speech:  "Well,  well!  there's  where  I  spent  last  summer!" 

We  reached  Fairbanks  on  the  nth  of  April,  in  time 
for  Good  Friday  and  Easter,  after  an  absence  of  four 
months  and  a  half — with  the  accumulated  mail  of  all 
that  period  awaiting  me.  The  distance  covered  was 
about  twenty-two  hundred  miles,  three  fourths  of  it  on 
foot,  more  than  half  of  it  on  snow-shoes.  At  Chena  I 
had  called  up  the  hospital  at  Fairbanks  on  the  telephone, 
and  the  exchange  operator  had  immediately  recognised 
my  voice  and  bidden  me  welcome;  but  when  I  reached 
Fairbanks,  a  light  beard  that  I  had  suffered  to  grow 
during  the  winter  made  me  unrecognisable  by  those  who 
knew  me  best.  So  effectually  does  a  beard  disguise  a 
man  and  so  surely  may  his  voice  identify  him. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  "FIRST  ICE"— AN  AUTUMN  ADVENTURE  ON  THE 

KOYUKUK 

It  is  not  attempted  in  this  narrative  to  give  separate 
account  of  all  the  journeys  with  which  it  deals.  That 
would  involve  much  repetition  and  tedious  detail.  Our 
long  journey  has  been  described  from  start  to  finish, 
taking  the  reader  far  north  of  the  Yukon,  then  almost  to 
the  extreme  west  of  Alaska,  and  then  round  by  the  Yukon 
to  mid-Alaska  again.  It  is  proposed  now  to  give  sketches 
of  such  parts  of  other  journeys  as  do  not  cover  the  same 
ground,  ?nd  they  will  lie,  with  one  exception,  south  of 
the  Yukon.  While  visiting  many  of  the  same  points 
every  winter,  it  has  been  within  the  author's  good  for- 
tune and  contrivance  to  include  each  year  some  new 
stretch  of  country,  sometimes  searching  out  and  visiting 
a  new  tribe  of  natives,  and  blazing  the  way  for  the  es- 
tablishment of  permanent  missionary  work  amongst 
them.  To  these  initial  journeys  belongs  a  zest  that  no 
subsequent  travels  in  the  same  region  ever  have;  there 
is  a  keen  interest  in  what  every  new  turn  of  a  trail  shall 
bring,  every  new  bend  of  a  river;  there  is  eagerness  rising 
with  one's  rising  steps  to  excitement  for  the  view  from  a 
new  mountain  pass;  above  all,  there  is  deep  satisfaction 

coupled  with  a  sense  of  solemn  responsibility  in  being 

157 


IS8    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

the  first  to  reach  some  remote  band  of  Indians  and 
preach  to  them  the  Gospel  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 
There  are  few  men  nowadays  on  the  North  American 
continent  to  whom  that  privilege  remains. 

A  period  of  nearly  three  years  elapses  between  the 
beginning  of  the  journey  that  has  already  been  described 
and  the  short  sketch  of  a  journey  that  follows.  Many 
things  had  happened  in  those  three  years.  It  had  been 
the  happy  duty  of  the  writer  to  return  to  the  Koyukuk 
late  in  the  winter  of  1906-7,  empowered  to  build  the 
promised  mission  for  the  hitherto  neglected  natives  of 
that  region.  Pitching  tent  at  a  spot  opposite  the  mouth 
of  the  Alatna,  with  the  aid  of  a  skilled  carpenter  and  a 
couple  of  axemen  brought  from  the  mining  district  above, 
and  the  labour  of  the  Indians,  the  little  log  church  and 
the  mission  house  were  put  up  and  prepared  for  the  two 
ladies — a  trained  nurse  and  a  teacher — who  should  arrive 
on  the  first  steamboat.  The  steamboat  that  brought 
them  in  carried  him  out  on  its  return  trip,  and  the  next 
year  was  spent  in  the  States  making  known  the  needs  of 
the  work  in  Alaska  and  securing  funds  for  its  advance- 
ment. 

On  my  return  I  brought  with  me  a  young  physician. 
Doctor  Grafton  Burke,  as  a  medical  missionary,  and  a 
half-breed  Alaskan  youth,  Arthur,  who  had  been  at  school 
in  California,  as  attendant  and  interpreter.  A  thirty- 
two-foot  gasoline  launch  designed  for  the  Yukon  and  its 
tributaries  was  also  brought  and  was  launched  at  the 
head  of  Yukon  navigation  at  Whitehouse.  The  voyages 
of  the  Pelican  on  almost  all  the  navigable  waters  of  in- 


DOCTOR  GRAFTON  BURKE       159 

terior  Alaska  do  not  belong  to  a  narrative  concerned 
solely  with  winter  travel,  but  her  maiden  voyage  ended 
in  an  unexpected  and  rather  extraordinary  journey  over 
the  ice  which  is  perhaps  worth  describing.  After  the 
voyage  down  the  Yukon,  and  up  and  down  the  Tanana, 
it  was  purposed  to  take  the  boat  up  the  Koyukuk  to 
the  new  mission  at  the  Allakaket,  where  dogs  and  gear 
had  been  left,  and  put  her  in  winter  quarters  there. 
The  delays  that  associate  themselves  not  unnaturally 
with  three  novices  and  a  four-cylinder  gasoline  engine, 
had  brought  the  date  for  ascending  the  Koyukuk  a  little 
too  late  for  safety,  though  still  well  within  the  ordinary 
season  of  open  water.  The  possibility  of  an  early  winter 
closing  the  navigation  of  that  stream  before  the  Pelican 
reached  her  destination  had  been  entertained  and  pro- 
vided against,  though  it  seemed  remote.  Three  dogs, 
needed  anyway  to  replace  superannuated  members  of  the 
team,  had  been  bargained  for  at  Tanana  and  accommo- 
dations for  them  arranged,  and  a  supply  of  dog  fish 
stowed  on  the  after  deck  of  the  launch.  But  when  we 
went  to  pay  the  arranged  price  and  receive  the  dogs, 
the  vender's  wife  and  children  set  up  such  a  remonstrance 
and  plaintive  to-do  that  he  went  back  on  his  bargain 
and  we  did  not  get  the  dogs.  There  was  no  time  to  hunt 
others,  to  linger  was  to  invite  the  very  mishap  we  sought 
to  guard  against,  so  we  pulled  out  dogless,  reached  the 
mouth  of  the  Koyukuk  on  the  17th  of  September  and, 
having  taken  on  board  the  supply  of  gasoline  cached 
there,  turned  our  bow  up  the  river  the  next  morning. 
For  five  days  we  pushed  up  the  waters  of  that  great, 


i6o    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

lonely  river,  and  by  that  time  we  were  some  twenty- 
five  miles  above  Hogatzakaket,  three  hundred  and 
twenty-five  miles  from  the  mouth  and  one  hundred 
and  twenty-five  miles  from  the  mission,  at  the  camp  of 
a  prospector  who  had  recently  poled  up  from  the  Yukon. 
We  woke  on  board  the  launch  the  next  morning  to  find 
ice  formed  all  around  us  and  ice  running  in  the  river. 
The  thermometer  had  gone  to  zero  in  the  night. 

A  very  brief  attempt  to  make  our  way  against  the 
running  ice  showed  the  danger  of  doing  so,  for  the  thin 
cakes  had  knife-edges  and  cut  the  planking  of  the  boat 
so  that  she  began  to  leak.  Then  there  came  to  me  with 
some  bitterness  that  I  had  earnestly  desired  a  thin  steel 
armour-plating  at  the  water-line,  but  had  allowed  myself 
to  be  persuaded  out  of  it  by  her  builders.  So  again  my 
forethought  had  been  of  no  avail — though,  of  course,  light- 
ness of  draught  was  the  first  consideration.  We  put 
back  to  the  camp  and  proceeded  to  flatten  out  and  cut 
up  all  the  empty  cans  and  tinware  we  could  find  and  nail 
it  along  the  water-line  of  the  boat,  but  the  prospector 
persuaded  us  to  wait  a  day  or  two.  He  had  never  seen 
a  river  close  with  the  first  little  run  of  ice.  He  looked 
for  a  soft  spell  and  open  water  yet.  It  was  foolish  to  risk 
the  boat  against  the  ice.  So  we  waited;  and  night  after 
night  the  thermometer  fell  a  little  lower  and  a  little  lower, 
until  presently  a  sheet  of  ice  stretched  across  the  whole 
river  in  the  bend  where  we  lay.  We  were  frozen  in. 
The  remote  possibility  we  had  feared  and  sought  to  guard 
against  had  happened.  Navigation  had  ceased  on  the 
Koyukuk  at  the  earliest  date  anybody  remembered,  the 


THE  RUNNING  ICE  i6i 

23d  of  September.  Three  days  more  had  surely  taken  us 
to  the  mission  where  they  had  long  expected  us;  now  we 
should  have  to  make  our  way  on  foot,  without  dogs,  on 
the  dangerous  "first  ice,"  as  it  is  called,  taking  all  sorts 
of  chances,  pulling  a  Yukon  sled,  with  tent  and  stove, 
grub  and  bedding,  "by  the  back  of  the  face." 

But  first  there  was  the  launch  to  pull  out  and  make 
snug  for  the  winter  and  safe  against  the  spring  break-up. 
A  convenient  little  creek  mouth  with  easy  grade  offered, 
which  was  one  of  the  reasons  I  had  not  pushed  on  the 
few  more  miles  we  could  have  made.  Here  were  eli- 
gible winter  quarters;  farther  on  we  might  have  trouble 
in  putting  the  boat  in  safety;  here  also  was  a  kindly  and 
capable  man  willing  to  assist  us. 

It  was  our  great  good  fortune  to  find  this  man  at  this 
spot.  A  steamboat  he  had  signalled  as  she  entered  the 
mouth  of  the  Koyukuk  had  passed  him  by  unheeded, 
and  he  had  been  left  to  make  his  way  six  hundred  miles 
up  to  the  diggings,  with  his  winter's  outfit  in  a  poling 
boat.  He  had  accomplished  more  than  half  the  task, 
and,  warned  by  the  approach  of  winter,  had  stopped  at 
this  place  a  few  days  before  we  reached  it,  and  had  be- 
gun the  building  of  a  little  cabin;  meaning  to  prospect 
the  creek,  which  had  taken  his  eye  as  having  a  promising 
look.  The  cabin  we  helped  him  finish  was  the  twenty- 
first  cabin  he  had  built  in  Alaska,  he  informed  us. 

There  is  something  very  impressive  about  the  quiet, 
self-reliant,  unrecorded  hardihood  of  the  class  of  which 
this  man  was  an  excellent  type.  We  asked  him  why  he 
had  no  partner,  and  he  said  he  had  had  several  partners, 


1 62    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

but  they  all  snored,  and  he  would  not  live  with  a  man  that 
snored.  He  had  prospected  and  mined  in  many  districts 
of  Alaska  during  nearly  twenty  years.  Once  he  had  sold 
a  claim  for  a  few  hundred  dollars  that  had  yielded  many 
thousands  to  the  purchaser,  and  that  was  as  near  wealth 
as  he  had  ever  come.  But  he  had  always  made  a  living, 
always  had  enough  money  at  the  close  of  the  summer  to 
buy  his  winter's  "outfit"  and  try  his  luck  somewhere  else. 

Singly,  or  in  pairs,  men  of  this  type  have  wandered 
all  over  this  vast  country:  preceding  the  government  sur- 
veys, preceding  the  professional  explorer,  settling  down  for 
a  winter  on  some  creek  that  caught  their  fancy,  building  a 
cabin,  thawing  down  a  few  holes  to  bed-rock,  sometimes 
taking  out  a  little  gold,  more  often  finding  nothing,  going 
in  the  summer  to  some  old-established  camp  to  work  for 
wages,  or  finding  employment  as  deck-hand  on  a  steamboat. 

With  an  axe  and  an  auger  they  have  dotted  their 
rough  habitations  all  over  the  country;  with  a  pick  and  a 
shovel  and  a  gold  pan  they  have  tested  the  gravels  of 
innumerable  creeks.  They  know  the  drainage  slopes 
and  the  practicable  mountain  passes,  the  haunts  of  the 
moose  and  the  time  and  direction  of  the  caribou's  wan- 
derings. The  boats  they  have  built  have  pushed  their 
noses  to  the  heads  of  all  navigable  streams;  the  sleds 
they  have  made  have  furrowed  the  remotest  snows.  In 
the  arts  of  the  wilderness  they  are  the  equal  of  the 
native  inhabitant;  in  endurance  and  enterprise  far  his 
superior.  The  more  one  learns  by  experience  and  ob- 
servation what  life  of  this  sort  means,  and  realises  the 
demands  It  makes  upon  a  man's  resourcefulness,  upon 


THE   PROSPECTOR  163 

his  physique,  upon  his  good  spirits,  upon  his  fortitude, 
the  more  one's  admiration  grows  for  the  silent,  strong 
men  who  have  gone  out  all  over  this  land  and  pitted 
themselves  successfully  against  its  savage  wildness.  Often 
in  stress  for  the  necessaries  of  life,  there  are  yet  no  men 
as  a  class  more  free-handed  and  generous;  trained  to  do 
everything  for  themselves,  there  are  none  more  willing 
to  help  others. 

It  is  no  small  task  to  pull  a  four-ton  boat  out  of  the 
water  with  only  such  wilderness  tackle  as  we  could  devise. 
We  made  ways  of  soft  timbers,  squaring  and  smoothing 
them;  we  cut  down  many  trees  for  rollers;  we  dug  and 
graded  the  beach.  Then,  having  altogether  unloaded  her 
and  built  a  high  cache  of  poles  and  a  platform  for  her 
stuff,  and  having  chopped  the  ice  from  all  around  her,  we 
rigged  a  Spanish  windlass  and  wound  that  boat  out  of 
the  water  with  the  half-inch  cable  she  carried,  and  up 
on  the  ways  and  well  into  the  mouth  of  the  little  creek. 
Then  we  levelled  her  up  and  thoroughly  braced  her  and 
put  her  canvas  cover  all  over  her,  and  she  lay  there  until 
spring  and  took  no  harm  at  all. 

Arthur  had  meantime  been  making  a  sled  of  birch, 
intending  to  pull  it  himself  while  the  doctor  and  I  pulled 
a  Yukon  sled  borrowed  from  our  friend  the  prospector. 
By  the  6th  of  October  all  our  dispositions  were  made  for 
departure,  and  the  ice  seemed  strong  enough  to  warrant 
trusting  ourselves  to  it ;  but  we  waited  another  two  days, 
the  thermometer  still  reaching  a  minimum  each  night 
somewhere  around  zero.  When  we  said  good-bye  to  our 
friend  Martin  Nelson  (sometimes  one  wonders  if  any- 


1 64    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

where  else  in  the  world  can  be  found  men  as  kind  and 
helpful  to  strangers)  and  started  on  our  journey,  it  soon 
appeared  that  Arthur's  sled  was  more  hindrance  than 
help.  There  was  no  material  to  iron  the  runners  save 
strips  of  tin  can,  and  these  could  not  be  beaten  so  smooth 
that  they  did  not  drag  and  cut  on  the  ice.  So  the  load 
was  transferred  to  our  sled  and  the  little  sled  abandoned, 
and  we  took  turns  at  the  harness.  This  was  the  order  of 
the  journey:  one  man  went  ahead  with  an  axe  to  test  the 
ice;  one  man  put  the  rope  trace  about  his  shoulders;  one 
man  pushed  at  the  handle-bars  which  had  been  affixed  to 
the  sled.  It  was  fortunate  that  amidst  the  equipment  on 
the  launch  were  two  pairs  of  ice-creepers.  Without  them 
any  sort  of  pulling  and  pushing  on  the  glare  ice  would 
have  been  impossible. 

We  soon  found  that  the  bend  in  which  we  had  frozen 
was  no  sort  of  index  of  the  general  condition  of  the  river. 
Much  of  it  was  still  wide  open,  and  every  elbow  between 
bends  was  piled  high  with  rough  ice  from  pressure  jams. 
There  was  shore  ice,  however,  even  in  the  open  bends, 
along  which  we  were  able  to  creep ;  and,  though  the  ice- 
jams  gave  considerable  trouble,  yet  we  did  very  well  the 
first  day  and  camped  at  dark  with  eighteen  or  nineteen 
miles  to  our  credit,  in  the  presence  of  a  great,  red,  smoky 
sunset  and  a  glorious  alpenglow  on  a  distant  snow  moun- 
tain. 

The  next  day  was  full  of  risks  and  difficulties.  We 
were  to  learn  more  about  the  varieties  and  vagaries  of  ice 
on  that  journey  than  many  winters'  travel  on  older  ice 
would  teach. 


THE  START  165 

At  times,  for  a  few  hundred  yards,  the  sled  would  glide 
with  little  effort  over  smooth,  polished  ice;  then  would 
come  a  long  sand-bar,  the  side  of  which  we  had  to  hug 
close,  and  the  ice  upon  it  was  what  is  called  '*  shell-ice,'* 
through  several  layers  of  which  we  broke  at  every  step. 
As  the  river  fell,  each  night  had  left  a  thin  sheet  of  ice 
underneath  the  preceding  night's  ice,  and  the  foot  crashed 
through  the  layers  and  the  sled  runners  cut  through  them 
down  to  the  gravel  and  sand  at  the  bottom.  Then  would 
come  another  smooth  stretch  on  which  we  made  good  time. 
But  as  we  advanced  up  the  river  the  current  was  swifter 
and  swifter  and  the  ice  conditions  grew  steadily  worse. 
Here  was  a  steep-cut  bank  with  just  about  eighteen  or 
twenty  inches  of  ice  adhering  to  it  and  the  black,  rushing 
water  beyond.  We  must  either  get  our  load  along  that 
shelf  or  unload  the  sled  and  pack  everything  over  the 
face  of  a  rocky  bluff.  Arthur  passed  over  it  first,  testing 
gently  with  the  axe,  and  found  it  none  too  strong.  But 
the  alternative  was  so  toilsome  that  we  resolved  to  take 
the  chance.  The  doctor  put  the  trace  over  his  shoulders, 
Arthur  took  the  handle-bars,  while  I  climbed  to  a  ledge 
of  the  rocks  and,  with  a  rope  made  of  a  pair  of  camel's- 
hair  puttees  unwound  for  the  purpose  and  fastened  to 
the  sled,  took  all  the  weight  I  could  and  eased  the  sled 
over  the  worst  place  where  the  ice  sloped  to  the  water.  If 
the  ice  had  broken  I  might  have  held  the  sled  from  sinking 
until  one  of  the  others  came  to  me,  or  I  might  not;  the 
boys  would  probably  have  gone  in  too.  It  was  a  most 
risky  spot  and  the  sort  of  chance  no  one  would  think  of 
taking  under  ordinary  circumstances.     As  it  was,  the  ice 


1 66    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

broke  under  Arthur's  feet,  and  only  by  throwing  his 
weight  on  the  sled  did  he  save  himself  a  ducking.  But 
we  got  the  load  safely  across. 

A  good  run  of  perhaps  a  mile,  and  then  we  had  to  go 
back  at  least  half  a  mile,  for  the  ice  played  out  altogether 
on  our  side  of  the  river  as  we  reached  the  Batzakaket,  and 
there  was  open  water  in  the  middle.  To  reach  the  shore 
ice  that  was  continuous  on  the  other  side,  we  had  to 
*'  double  "  the  open  water.  With  such  varying  fortune  the 
day  passed,  and  we  camped  on  the  level  ice  of  a  little 
creek  tributary  to  the  right  bank,  having  made  perhaps 
another  nineteen  miles. 

When  I  awoke  in  the  morning  my  heart  sank  at  the 
tiny,  creeping  patter  of  fine  snow  on  the  silk  tent.  Snow 
was  one  thing  I  greatly  dreaded,  for  there  was  not  a  pair 
of  snow-shoes  amongst  us!  A  little  snow  would  not  do 
much  harm,  but  if  once  snow  began  to  fall  we  might  have 
a  foot  or  two  before  it  ceased,  and  then  we  should  be  in 
bad  case.  It  stopped  before  noon,  but  the  half-inch  that 
fell  made  the  sled  drag  much  heavier.  The  actual  force 
to  be  exerted  was  not  the  most  laborious  feature  of  pulling 
that  sled;  it  was  the  jerk,  jerk,  jerk  on  the  shoulders.  A 
dog's  four  legs  give  him  much  smoother  traction  than  a 
man's  two  legs  give,  just  as  a  four-cylinder  engine  will 
turn  a  propeller  with  much  less  vibration  than  a  two- 
cylinder  engine.  Every  step  forward  gave  an  impulse 
that  spent  itself  before  the  next  impulse  was  given,  and 
the  result  was  that  the  shoulders  grew  sore. 

We  came  that  morning  to  the  longest  and  roughest 
ice-jam  we  had  so  far  encountered.     It  was  as  though  a 


"BY  THE  BACK  OF  THE  FACE"     167 

thousand  bulls  had  been  turned  loose  in  a  mammoth  plate- 
glass  warehouse.  Jagged  slabs  of  ice  upended  every- 
where in  the  most  riotous  confusion,  and  it  was  impossible 
to  pick  any  way  amongst  them,  so  a  man  had  to  go  ahead 
and  hew  a  path.  It  was  while  thus  engaged  that  the 
doctor  fell  and  injured  his  knee  so  severely  on  a  sharp  ice 
point  that  he  hobbled  in  pain  the  rest  of  the  trip.  This 
was  a  very  serious  matter  to  us,  for,  though  he  insisted 
on  still  taking  his  trick  at  the  traces,  his  effectiveness  as 
a  motive  power  was  much  diminished;  and  we  had  no 
sooner  thus  hewed  and  smashed  our  way  through  that 
jam  than  we  had  to  hew  and  smash  it  across  to  the  other 
side  again  in  our  search  for  passage. 

Then  we  came  to  a  place  where,  in  order  to  cut  off  a 
long  sweeping  curve  of  the  river  with  open  water  and 
bad  shore  ice,  we  went  through  a  dry  slough  and  had  to 
drag  those  iron  runners  over  gravel  and  stones,  where 
sometimes  it  was  all  the  three  of  us  could  do  to  move 
the  sled  a  few  feet  at  a  time.  Yet  all  along  the  banks 
were  willows,  and  if  we  had  only  known  then  what  we 
know  now  we  would  have  cut  down  and  split  some  sap- 
lings and  bound  them  over  the  iron,  and  so  have  saved 
three  fourths  of  that  labour. 

So  the  day's  run  was  short,  though  the  most  exhausting 
yet,  and  we  were  all  thoroughly  tired  out  when  we  pitched 
the  tent.  I  have  note  of  a  great  supper  of  bear  meat 
and  beans,  the  meat  the  spoil  of  our  friend  the  prospec- 
tor's gun.  It  is  one  of  the  compensations  of  human  nature 
that  the  satisfaction  of  appetite  increases  in  pleasure  in 
proportion   to   the   bodily   labour   that   is   done.     With 


1 68    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

food  abundant  and  at  choice,  I  do  not  like  bear  meat  and 
will  not  eat  beans.  Yet  my  diary  bears  special  note  of 
the  delicious  meal  they  furnished  on  this  occasion.  Put 
any  philosopher  in  the  traces,  or  set  him  ahead  of  the  dog 
team  on  show-shoes,  breaking  trail  all  day,  and  towards 
evening  it  is  odds  that  his  mind  is  not  occupied  with  deep 
speculations  about  the  infinite  and  the  absolute,  but 
rather  with  the  question  of  what  he  will  have  for  supper. 
Particularly  should  the  grub  be  a  little  short,  should  fresh 
meat  give  out,  or,  above  all,  should  sugar  be  "shy,"  it  is 
astonishing  how  one's  mind  runs  on  eating  and  what 
elaborate  imaginary  repasts  one  partakes  of.  Yet  of  all 
food  that  a  man  ever  eats  there  is  none  that  is  so  relished 
and  gives  such  clear  gustatory  pleasure  as  the  plain,  rough 
fare  of  the  camp — provided  it  be  well  cooked.  Greatly 
as  we  were  in  need  of  sleep,  we  got  little,  for  the  doctor's 
knee  pained  him  all  night  and  poor  Arthur  developed  a 
raging  toothache  that  did  not  yield  until  carbolic  acid 
had  been  thrice  applied. 

Soon  after  we  started  the  next  day,  the  river  narrowed 
and  swept  round  a  series  of  mountain  bluffs  and  we  began 
to  have  the  gloomiest  expectations  of  trouble.  It  seemed 
certain  that  ice  would  fail  us  for  passage,  and  we  would 
have  to  pack  our  sled  and  its  load  by  slow  relays  over 
the  mountain.  But  to  our  delight  we  passed  between 
the  bluffs  on  good,  firm,  smooth  ice,  and  it  was  not  until 
we  emerged  on  the  flat  beyond  that  our  difficulty  began. 
So  it  is  again  and  again  on  the  trail.  Almost  always  it 
is  the  unexpected  that  happens;  almost  always  it  is  some- 
thing quite  different  from  what  our  apprehensions  have 


^ 


BEAR  MEAT  AND   BEANS  169 

dwelt  upon  that  arises  to  hinder  and  distress  us.  A 
tongue  of  level  land  that  struck  far  out  into  the  water, 
a  cut  mud  bank  with  a  current  so  swift  that  no  ice  at  all 
had  formed  along  it,  interposed  an  obstacle  that  it  took 
hours  to  circumvent.  We  had  to  leave  the  sled  and  cut 
a  trail  through  the  brush  for  half  a  mile  along  this  pe- 
ninsula in  order  to  reach  a  stretch  of  the  river  where  the 
ice  was  resumed,  and  the  little  snow  that  had  fallen  being 
quite  insufficient  to  give  the  sled  good  passage,  we  had  an 
exceedingly  arduous  job  in  getting  it  across. 

A  mile  or  two  of  good  going  brought  us  in  view  of  the 
smoke  of  a  human  habitation.  What  a  blessed  sight  often 
and  often  this  waving  column  of  blue  smoke  in  the  dis- 
tance is!  Sometimes  it  means  life  itself  to  the  Alaskan 
musher,  and  it  always  means  warmth,  shelter,  food,  com- 
panionship, assistance;  all  that  one  human  being  can  bring 
to  another.  "The  bright  and  the  balmy  effulgence  of 
morn"  never  "breaks  on  the  traveller  faint  and  astray" 
with  half  the  rejoicing  that  comes  with  the  first  sight 
of  mere  smoke.  "  I  believe  I  see  smoke,"  cried  Arthur, 
with  the  quick  vision  of  the  native.  "Where?  Where?" 
we  eagerly  inquired,  and  the  doctor  left  the  handle-bars 
and  limped  forward  to  the  boy  ahead  with  the  axe. 
"Away  yonder  on  that  bank,"  pointed  Arthur.  "I  see 
it!  I  see  it!"  the  doctor  shouted;  "we're  coming  to  a 
house,  we're  coming  to  people!"  The  trip  was  a  severe 
apprenticeship  to  Alaskan  life  for  a  man  straight  from 
the  New  York  hospitals,  although  before  the  accident  to 
his  knee  I  had  declared  that  if  only  they  could  be  trained 
to  live  on  dry  fish  I  thought  a  team  of  young  doctors 


170    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

would  haul  a  sled  very  well.  He  was  delighted  at  coming 
upon  the  first  inhabited  house  we  had  seen  since  we  helped 
Nelson  to  build  his  little  cabin — and  that  was  only  the 
second  inhabited  house  in  three  hundred  miles. 

But,  perhaps  because  we  grew  less  cautious  in  our 
excitement,  almost  immediately  after  we  had  spied  the 
smoke  of  the  cabin  we  got  into  one  of  the  worst  messes 
of  the  whole  trip.  Arthur  had  pushed  ahead  and  we  had 
followed  with  a  spurt,  and  almost  at  the  same  time  all 
three  of  us  became  aware  that  we  were  on  dangerous  ice. 
Arthur  cried,  "The  ice  is  breaking;  go  back!"  just  as  we 
began  to  feel  it  swaying  under  our  feet.  I  shouted  to  the 
doctor,  "Go  on  to  the  bank  quick!"  and  pushed  with  all 
my  might,  and  we  managed  to  make  a  few  yards  more 
towards  shallow  water,  over  ice  that  bent  and  cracked  at 
every  step,  before  it  gave  way  and  let  down  the  sled  and 
the  men  into  two  feet  of  water.  Arthur  had  run  safely 
over  the  breaking  ice  and  had  gained  the  bank,  and  as 
I  write,  in  my  mind's  eye  I  can  see  the  doctor,  who  had 
been  duly  instructed  in  the  elementary  lessons  of  the 
trail,  standing  in  the  water  and  calling  to  Arthur:  "Make 
a  fire  quick;  make  a  fire.     I'm  all  wet!" 

But  it  was  not  necessary  to  make  a  fire,  for  the  ther- 
mometer was  no  lower  than  io°  or  15°  above  zero,  and 
the  chief  trouble  was  not  the  wetting  of  our  legs  but  the 
wetting  of  the  contents  of  the  sled.  Along  the  bank  was 
stronger  ice,  and  we  managed,  though  not  without  much 
difficulty,  to  get  the  sled  upon  it  and  to  make  our  way  to 
the  Indian  cabin. 

As  soon  as  old  "Atler"  (I  have  never  been  quite  sure 


BREAKING  THROUGH  171 

of  what  white  man's  name  that  is  a  corruption)  knew  who 
we  were,  his  hospitahty,  which  had  been  ready  enough  at 
first  sight,  became  most  cordial  and  expansive.  While  we 
pulled  off  our  wet  clothing  his  wife  hung  it  up  to  dry 
and  had  the  kettle  on  and  some  tea  making,  and  he  and 
Arthur  got  out  our  wet  bedding  and  festooned  it  about 
the  cabin.  Most  fortunately  the  things  that  would  have 
suffered  most  from  water  did  not  get  wet.  So  there  we 
lay  all  the  afternoon,  having  made  no  more  than  six 
miles,  and  there  we  lay  all  the  next  day,  which  was 
Sunday. 

There  was  a  sort  of  awful  interest  that  centred  upon 
one  member  of  this  family,  a  boy  of  seven  or  eight  years. 
The  previous  spring  he  had  killed  his  uncle  by  the  ac- 
cidental discharge  of  a  .22  rifle,  shooting  him  through  the 
heart.  The  gun  had  been  brought  in  loaded  and  cocked 
and  had  been  set  in  a  corner  of  the  cabin,  and  the  child, 
playing  with  it,  had  pulled  the  trigger.  The  carelessness 
of  Indians  with  firearms  is  the  frequent  cause  of  terrible 
accidents  like  this.  The  child  was  still  too  young  to  realise 
what  he  had  done,  but  one  fancies  that  later  it  will  throw 
a  gloom  on  his  life. 

To  my  great  relief  and  satisfaction  I  was  able  to 
arrange  here  for  a  young  Indian  man  to  accompany  us 
with  his  one  dog.  He  was  a  native  of  those  parts  and 
knew  every  bend  and  turn  of  the  river.  We  were,  indeed, 
in  great  need  of  help.  The  doctor's  knee  grew  worse 
rather  than  better,  and  Arthur  was  suffering  the  return 
of  an  old  rheumatism  in  his  leg.  I  was  the  only  sound 
member  of  the  party,  and  my  shoulders  were  galled  by 


172    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

the  rope  and  my  feet  tender  and  sore  from  continual 
wearing  of  the  crampons.  We  were  now  not  quite  half- 
way— some  sixty  miles  lay  behind  us  and  sixty-five 
before — and  we  had  been  travelling  four  days. 

Divine  service  being  done  on  Sunday  morning,  the 
whole  of  it  well  interpreted  by  Arthur  to  the  great  satis- 
faction of  the  Indians,  he  and  "One-Eyed  William,"  our 
recruit,  started  out  to  survey  to-morrow's  route.  In  this 
reconnaissance  William  broke  through  some  slush  ice  at 
the  greatest  depth  of  the  river  in  seeking  a  safe  place  to 
cross,  and,  had  Arthur  not  been  with  him,  would  almost 
certainly  have  drowned,  for  the  current  was  very  swift 
and  the  man,  like  most  Indians,  unable  to  swim  a  stroke; 
— though,  indeed,  swimming  is  of  little  avail  for  escape 
out  of  such  predicament  and  is  a  poor  dependence  in  these 
icy  waters  winter  or  summer.  More  beans  boiled  and  a 
batch  of  biscuits  baked  against  our  departure,  and  evening 
prayer  said  and  interpreted,  we  were  ready  for  bed  again. 

Our  visit  was  a  great  delight  to  old  Atler.  An  in- 
flamed eye  was  much  relieved  by  the  doctor's  ministra- 
tions, and  the  natural  piety  which  he  shares  with  most 
Indians  was  gratified  at  the  opportunity  of  worship  and 
instruction.  A  good  old  man,  according  to  his  lights,  I 
take  Atler  to  be,  well  known  for  benevolence  of  disposi- 
tion and  particularly  priding  himself  on  being  a  friend  of 
the  white  man.  He  told  us  of  one  unworthy  representa- 
tive of  that  race  he  had  helped  a  year  ago.  The  man 
had  come  out  of  the  Hogatzitna  (Hog  River)  country, 
entirely  out  of  food,  himself  and  a  couple  of  dogs  nigh  to 
starvation,  and  Atler  had  taken  care  of  him  for  several 


"ONE-EYED  WILLIAM"  173 

days  while  he  recuperated  and  had  given  him  grub  and 
dog  fish  enough  to  get  him  to  Bettles,  one  hundred  and 
thirty  miles  away,  where  he  could  purchase  supplies. 
The  old  Indian  had  robbed  his  own  family's  little  winter 
stock  of  *' white-man's  grub"  that  this  stranger  might  be 
provided,  and  had  never  heard  a  word  from  him  since, 
though  he  had  promised  to  make  return  when  he  reached 
Bettles. 

Unfortunately  Alaska's  white  population  is  sprinkled 
with  men  like  this,  men  without  heart  and  without  con- 
science, and  it  is  precisely  such  rascals  who  are  loud- 
est in  their  contemptuous  talk  of  the  Indians.  It  is  such 
men  who  chop  down  the  woodwork  of  cabins  rather  than 
be  troubled  to  take  the  axe  into  the  forest  a  few  rods 
away,  who  depart  in  the  morning  without  making  kin- 
dling and  shavings,  careless  how  other  travellers  may  fare 
so  themselves  be  warm  without  labour;  who  make  "easy 
money"  in  the  summer-time  by  dropping  down  the  Yukon 
with  a  boat-load  of  "rot-gut"  whisky,  leaving  drunken- 
ness and  riot  at  every  village  they  pass;  who  beget  chil- 
dren of  the  native  women  and  regard  them  no  more  than 
a  dog  does  his  pups,  indifferent  that  their  own  flesh  and 
blood  go  cold  and  hungry.  They  are  the  curse  and  dis- 
grace of  Alaska,  and  they  often  go  long  time  insolent  and 
unwhipped  because  our  poor  lame  law  is  not  nimble 
enough  to  overtake  them;  "to  whom  is  reserved  the  black- 
ness of  darkness  for  ever,"  one's  indignation  is  sometimes 
disposed  to  thunder  savagely  with  Saint  Jude;  and  indeed 
there  needs  a  future  punishment  to  redress  the  balance  in 
this  country. 


174    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

At  break  of  day  our  reinforced  company  was  off, 
Arthur  and  "One-Eyed  William"  going  ahead  to  sound 
the  ice  and  pick  the  way,  the  dog  "Fido"  (such  a  name 
for  a  Siwash  dog!)  and  myself  in  the  traces,  the  doctor 
at  the  handle-bars.  The  rest  had  benefited  the  doctor's 
knee,  but  walking  was  still  painful  and  he  needed  the  sup- 
port of  the  handle-bars  all  day.  What  a  great  difference 
that  one  strong,  willing  little  dog  made!  His  steady  pull- 
ing kept  the  sled  in  motion  and  relieved  one's  shoulders 
of  the  galling  jerk  of  the  rope  at  every  step.  The  going 
was  "not  too  bad,"  as  they  say  here,  all  day,  though  it 
carried  one  rather  severe  disappointment.  William  had 
told  us  of  a  portage  he  thought  we  could  take  that  would 
cut  off  eight  or  nine  miles  of  the  river;  but  when  we 
reached  it  the  snow  upon  it  proved  insufficient  to  afford 
a  passage,  for  it  was  a  rough  niggerhead  flat,  and  we  had 
to  swing  around  the  outer  edges  of  the  great  curves  the 
river  makes,  where  alone  was  ice,  with  trouble  and  danger 
at  every  crossing. 

The  decision  as  to  whether  we  should  halt  or  go  for- 
ward, as  to  whether  ice  was  safe  or  unsafe,  as  to  whether 
we  should  cross  the  river  or  stay  where  we  were — every 
decision  that  concerned  the  secure  advance  of  the  party — 
I  put  wholly  upon  William,  and  would  not  permit  myself 
or  any  other  to  question  his  judgment  or  to  argue  it  with 
him.  There  was  no  sense  in  half-measures;  this  young 
man  knew  the  river  as  none  of  us  did,  knew  ice  as  none  of 
us  did,  and  we  must  put  ourselves  entirely  in  his  hands. 
The  debate  that  had  become  usual  at  every  doubtful 
course  arose  at  the  portage  just  referred  to,  but  it  was  at 


FIDO  175 

once  suppressed  by  the  announcement  that  hereafter  no 
one  could  have  the  floor  but  WilUam,  and  that  when  he 
had  spoken  the  matter  was  settled.  Day  by  day  I  think 
we  all  came  to  a  keener  realisation  of  how  very  dangerous 
a  journey  we  were  making;  it  lay  heavily  on  my  mind 
that  I  had  brought  these  two  young  men — whether  by 
mishap  or  mismanagement — into  real  peril  of  their  lives. 
Again  and  again  I  blamed  myself  for  the  delays  that  had 
deferred  our  start  up  the  Koyukuk,  again  and  again  I 
wished  that  we  had  waited  longer  before  leaving  the 
Pelican  s  winter  quarters.  I  had  even  contemplated  a 
week's  stay  at  Atler's,  to  give  the  river  a  chance  to  get 
into  better  shape,  but  unless  there  came  a  very  much 
sharper  spell  than  we  had  had  so  far  a  week  would  not 
make  much  difference,  and  our  grub  began  to  run  short 
and  Atler  was  none  too  well  supplied.  So  it  seemed  best 
to  push  on. 

The  next  day  was  full  of  toil  and  difficulty.  There 
was  no  good  ice  to  make  fine  time  over  that  day.  Start- 
ing in  the  grey  dawn,  for  mile  after  mile  we  had  to 
haul  the  sled  over  crumbly  shell-ice  that  broke  through 
to  gravel ;  and  when  the  shell-ice  was  done  we  came  to  a 
new  bend  where  a  rapid  current  washed  a  steep  mud 
bank.  There  was  just  a  little  shelf  of  ice,  but  the  brush 
overhung  it  so  that  the  passage  of  the  sled  was  not  possi- 
ble. William  and  Arthur  started  with  the  axes  to  clear 
away  the  brush,  but  it  seemed  to  me  foolish  to  do  that 
unless  the  ledge  held  out  and  led  somewhere,  for  the  turn 
of  the  bank  threw  it  out  of  sight.  So  they  went  forward 
cautiously  along  that  ledge  to  the  end — and  an  end  they 


176    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

found,  sure  enough,  so  that  had  we  followed  the  axemen 
with  the  sled  we  should  have  had  to  creep  all  the  way  back 
again.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  cut  another  land 
trail  on  a  bench  that  we  could  reach  where  the  sled  was 
stopped  but  that  could  not  be  reached  at  all  farther  on. 
A  long  and  slow  and  laborious  job  it  was,  that  took  most 
of  the  morning,  to  cut  that  trail  and  then  get  the  load 
over  it  to  ice  again. 

By  noon  we  were  opposite  the  Red  Mountain,  one  of 
the  well-known  Koyukuk  landmarks,  and  on  the  site  of 
an  old  Indian  fishing  camp.  William  and  Arthur  had 
made  a  great  fire  when  we  came  up,  and  we  heated  some 
beans  and  made  some  tea  and  ate  lunch.  A  mile  far- 
ther on  was  the  cabin  of  a  white  man,  and  we  paid  him  a 
brief  visit  and  got  a  little  tea  from  him,  for  ours  was 
nearly  gone.  It  did  me  good  to  hear  him  sing  the  praises 
of  Deaconess  Carter,  the  trained  nurse  at  the  mission. 
She  had  taken  him  in,  crippled  with  rheumatism,  and  had 
cured  him.  Already  the  new  mission  was  proving  a  boon 
to  whites  as  well  as  natives.  We  made  no  more  than  four 
or  five  miles  farther  when,  coming  to  spruce  with  no  more 
in  sight  for  a  long  distance,  we  pitched  the  tent,  all  very 
tired. 

That  night  the  thermometer  went  to  5°  below  zero, 
the  coldest  weather  of  the  season  so  far.  As  a  conse- 
quence the  next  day  we  had  a  new  and  very  disagreeable 
trouble.  The  cold  weather,  by  increasing  the  amount  of 
running  ice  in  the  still  open  stretches,  had  brought  about 
a  jam  that  had  raised  the  level  of  the  water  and  caused 
an  overflow  of  the  ice — a  very  common  phenomenon  of  a 


THE   RED  MOUNTAIN  177 

closing  river.  We  picked  our  way  wet-foot  much  of  the 
day,  and  towards  evening  came  to  a  complete  impasse  in 
the  middle  of  the  river,  with  open  water  in  front  and  on 
one  hand,  and  new  thin  ice  on  the  other.  So  we  had  to 
turn  round  and  go  back  again  a  long  way,  the  mid-river 
being  the  only  traversable  place,  until,  when  it  seemed 
that  we  should  have  to  go  round  another  bend  to  reach 
a  crossing,  Arthur  proposed  that  he  and  William,  who 
wore  mukluks,  should  carry  the  doctor  and  me,  who  wore 
moccasins  across  the  overflow,  and  then  rush  the  sled 
across;  and  this  we  did,  wetting  its  contents  somewhat, 
however.  We  camped  immediately,  for  we  had  landed 
on  impassable  gravel. 

That  night  the  thermometer  went  to  20°  below  zero, 
and  we  took  good  hope  that  the  cold,  which  began  to 
approach  the  real  cold  of  winter,  would  put  an  end  to 
overflow;  but,  on  the  contrary,  it  only  aggravated  the 
trouble.  For  the  first  mile  or  two  there  was  nothing  for 
it  but  to  go  through  it,  and  at  20°  below  it  is  a  miserable 
business  to  be  wading  in  moccasins  even  for  an  hour.  We 
had  rearranged  our  load  so  that  it  stood  up  somewhat 
higher,  but  we  could  not  avoid  wetting  the  things  on  the 
bottom  of  the  sled,  and  the  ice  formed  about  it  very  in- 
conveniently. Moreover,  the  little  dog,  who  had  a  great 
dislike  to  wetting  his  feet,  began  to  give  us  a  good  deal 
of  trouble,  and  at  one  time  nothing  but  the  admirable 
presence  of  mind  and  prompt  action  of  William  saved  us 
from  losing  our  whole  load.  We  had  reached  a  strip  of 
new,  dry  ice  formed  the  night  before,  with  black,  rushing 
water  on  the  left,  towards  which   the  slippery  surface 


178    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

sloped.  Presently  as  we  advanced  we  began  to  encounter 
a  little  overflow  water,  coming  from  the  bank  on  the 
right,  seeping  up  between  the  ice  and  the  bank;  and  that 
dog,  to  avoid  wetting  his  feet  in  the  overflow,  deliberately 
turned  towards  the  open  water  and  set  the  sled  sliding  in 
the  same  direction.  Without  the  crampons,  which  we 
had  not  used  for  the  past  few  days,  it  was  impossible  to 
hold  the  sled  against  the  dog's  traction,  and  in  another 
moment  we  should  have  lost  everything,  for  the  dog  paid 
no  heed  to  our  voices,  when  William  with  a  blow  of  his 
axe  cut  the  rope  by  which  the  dog  pulled,  and,  grasping 
the  sled  and  throwing  himself  full  length  on  the  ice, 
managed  to  stop  it  on  the  very  brink  of  the  water.  It 
was  a  close  shave,  but  once  more  we  were  safe;  and  the 
doctor,  in  the  exuberance  of  his  gratitude,  said  that 
night:  "If  William  wants  a  glass  eye  I'll  send  to  New 
York  to  get  him  one."  But  when  William  learned  that 
the  glass  eye  was  a  mere  matter  of  looks  and  would  in 
no  wise  improve  his  vision,  he  lost  interest  in  it.  Looks 
do  not  count  for  much  amongst  the  Koyukuk  Indians. 

That  night  was  a  long  way  off  yet,  however;  we  had 
other  risks  to  run,  other  labours.  Here  were  two  islands 
in  the  river,  and  the  current,  running  like  a  mill-race  and 
burdened  with  ice  cakes,  swept  around  the  shore  of  one 
of  them  leaving  the  passage  between  them  quite  dry. 
There  was  no  shore  ice  at  all  where  the  channel  was,  and 
it  was  so  ugly-looking  a  reach  that  had  there  been  any 
there  I  am  sure  we  should  not  have  ventured  it.  There 
was  nothing  for  it  but  to  drag  the  sled  half  a  mile  over 
the  gravel,  and  we  did  it,  the  most  heart-breaking  labour 


A  NARROW  ESCAPE  179 

of  the  whole  trip.  It  took  us  exactly  an  hour  to  make 
that  half  mile.  William  did  not  know  the  trick  of  the 
split  willows  either,  so  we  all  four  of  us  sweated  for  our 
ignorance.  Shortly  after,  our  guide  pointed  out  the  spot 
where  poor  Ericson's  frozen  body  was  found,  two  years 
and  eight  months  before. 

Near  the  Kornuchaket  (or  the  mouth  of  Old  Man 
Creek),  where  the  Koyukuk  receives  a  considerable  trib- 
utary, we  approached  the  most  dangerous  travelling  we 
had  had  yet.  The  river  here  is  swift  and  deep,  and  there 
are  several  islands  set  in  it.  Most  of  its  surface  was 
frozen,  but  the  ice  was  very  thin.  William  stopped  the 
procession  before  we  reached  the  bad  stretch  and  went 
hastily  over  a  part  of  it.  Under  his  single  weight  we 
could  see  the  ice-sheet  undulating.  It  had  been  our  rule 
that  ice  was  not  safe  unless  it  took  three  blows  of  the 
axe  to  bring  water,  but  this  ice  gave  water  at  a  blow. 
When  William  returned  he  made  quite  an  harangue, 
which  Arthur  interpreted.  He  thought  we  could  make 
it  past  the  mouth  of  the  creek,  and  if  we  could  we  should 
find  good  going  to  Moses'  Village.  But  we  must  go 
just  as  fast  as  we  could  travel;  we  must  not  let  the  sled 
stop  an  instant.  The  ice  would  bend  and  crack;  but  he 
thought  if  we  went  quickly  we  could  get  across.  So  for 
nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  we  rushed  that  sled  over 
"rubber"  ice  that  swayed  and  cracked  and  yielded  under 
our  feet  and  under  the  sled,  until  we  reached  the  bank 
of  one  of  the  islands,  and  then  again  we  launched  her 
and  ran  with  her  to  the  shore.  Once  one  of  my  feet 
broke  through,  and  immediately  the  water  welled  up  all 


i8o    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

around — with  the  steamboat  channel  underneath — but 
without  pause  we  increased  our  speed  and  made  the 
strong  shore  ice  safely  at  last.  No  man  will  ever  doubt 
the  plasticity,  the  "viscosity"  of  ice,  as  it  used  to  be 
styled  in  the  old  glacier  controversies,  who  has  passed 
over  the  "rubber"  ice  that  forms  under  certain  circum- 
stances and  at  certain  seasons  on  these  rivers. 

We  would  never,  I  am  sure,  have  attempted  that  ice 
had  not  William  been  with  us.  We  would  have  struck  a 
blow  with  the  axe  and  declared  it  unsafe.  Of  course,  it 
was  unsafe;  the  whole  journey  was  unsafe,  but  I  am  con- 
vinced that  this  thin,  continuous  sheet  of  ice,  cushioned 
actually  upon  the  surface  of  the  water  out  of  which  it 
was  growing,  was  really  safer  than  much  of  the  thicker 
but  brittle,  unsupported  ice  we  had  unhesitatingly 
come  over.  Chemists  tell  us  that  certain  substances  in 
the  act  of  formation,  which  they  call  nascent  substances, 
are  extraordinarily  active  and  potent,  and  it  may  be  that 
ice  in  the  same  state  has  a  special  tenacity  of  texture 
which  belongs  to  that  state  alone.  I  wish  that  I  could 
have  measured  the  thickness  of  that  ice.  Where  my  foot 
went  through  I  know  it  was  very  thin,  but  its  thickness 
I  will  not  venture  to  guess.  There  was  the  distinct  feeling 
that  the  water  was  bearing  the  ice  up  and  when  it  was 
punctured  the  water  welled  up  with  pressure  behind  it. 

Beyond  the  Kornuchaket  much  more  snow  had  fallen, 
and  a  few  miles  brought  us  to  Moses'  Village,  called 
grandiosely  "Arctic  City,"  since  a  trader  had  established 
a  store  and  a  road-house  there.  At  this  spot  a  new  over- 
land mail  trail  from  Tanana  strikes  the  Koyukuk,  and, 


RUBBER  ICE  i8i 

although  ten  or  twelve  miles  remained,  we  felt  that  our 
journey  was  done.  My  sled  dogs  were  there,  and,  as  I 
had  not  seen  them  for  more  than  a  year,  that  was  a  joyful 
reunion.  Nanook's  bark  of  welcome,  which  no  one  but 
I  ever  got  with  quite  the  same  inflection,  was  as  grateful 
to  me  as  all  the  licking  and  slobbering  of  the  others,  for 
Nanook  is  a  very  independent  beast,  reserved  in  his 
demonstrations  and  not  wearing  his  heart  on  his  sleeve, 
so  to  speak.  They  were  all  glad  to  see  me — Old  Lingo  and 
Nig,  and  even  "Jimmy  the  Fake."  Billy  was  dead.  For 
fifteen  or  sixteen  months  they  had  been  boarded  here, 
and,  since  fish  had  been  very  scarce  the  preceding  sum- 
mer, their  food  had  been  chiefly  bacon  and  rice  and  tal- 
low, and  there  was  a  bill  of  close  to  four  hundred  dollars 
against  us !  Dogs  are  very  expensive  things  in  this  expen- 
sive country.  When  used  the  winter  through  on  the  trail, 
and  boarded  the  summer  through  at  a  fish  camp,  we  esti- 
mate that  it  costs  one  hundred  dollars  per  head  per 
annum  to  feed  a  dog;  so  that  the  maintenance  of  a  team 
of  five  dogs,  which  is  the  minimum  practicable  team,  will 
cost  five  hundred  dollars  per  annum  for  food  alone. 

When  we  had  eaten  a  good  supper  and  were  reclining 
on  spring  cots  in  the  bunk  house,  there  was  not  one  of 
us  but  confidently  expected  to  be  at  the  mission  in  the 
next  forenoon.  For  a  week  past  the  natives  had  been 
going  to  and  fro  in  three  or  four  hours.  The  river  was 
completely  closed  above  here,  and  there  was  much  more 
snow  than  we  found  below.  So  we  hitched  our  own  dogs 
to  our  own  sled  the  next  morning,  when  the  doctor  had 
visited  a  sick  person  or  two,  and  started  out  on  the  last 


1 82    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

stretch  of  the  journey.  All  went  well  until  we  had  turned 
the  long  bend  at  the  head  of  which  the  old,  abandoned 
post  of  Bergman  is  situated,  just  on  the  Arctic  Circle,  but 
a  mile  or  two  beyond  we  were  wallowing  in  saturated  snow 
that  stretched  all  across  the  river  right  up  to  the  banks 
on  either  side.  An  overflow  was  in  progress,  the  water 
running  along  the  surface  of  the  ice  and  soaking  up  the 
snow  so  that  there  was  six  inches  of  slush  all  over  it.  We 
struggled  along  awhile,  though  from  the  first  it  seemed 
hopeless,  and  then  we  gave  it  up  and  went  back  to  the 
road-house.  There  would  be  no  passing  that  stretch  of 
river  with  the  sled  until  the  cold  had  dealt  with  the  over- 
flow. It  is  almost  always  the  unexpected  that  happens. 
The  next  morning  I  put  on  a  pair  of  snow-shoes — Doctor 
Burke's  knee  forbade  him  their  use — and  taking  William 
with  me,  mushed  up  through  the  slush  and  the  snow  to 
the  mission,  leaving  the  others  to  come  on  with  the  team 
so  soon  as  they  found  it  practicable. 

A  mile  before  we  reached  the  mission  was  the  new  vil- 
lage built  by  the  Esquimaux — "Kobuk  town"  they  call 
it — and  right  in  front  of  the  village  the  Malamute  Riffle, 
a  noted  difficulty  of  navigation,  was  still  running  wide 
open,  though  all  the  rest  of  the  river  was  long  closed. 
Near  the  riffle  the  Kobuks  had  a  fish-trap,  and  some  who 
were  busy  getting  out  fish  saw  and  recognised  me,  and 
the  whole  population  came  swarming  out  for  greetings. 
It  was  good  to  see  these  kindly,  simple  people  again,  to 
shake  their  hands  and  hear  their  "I  glad  I  see  you,"  which 
is  the  general  native  greeting  where  there  is  any  English 
at  all.     Every  one  must  shake  hands;  even  the  babies  on 


v:"^ 


H^ 


k*^f^'i 


SATURATED  SNOW  183 

their  mothers'  backs  stretch  out  their  httle  fingers  eagerly, 
and  if  they  be  too  small  for  that,  the  mother  will  take  the 
little  hand  and  hold  it  out.  At  the  bend  we  take  a  port- 
age and  a  quarter  of  a  mile  brings  us  to  the  AUakaket, 
to  the  familiar  modest  buildings  of  the  mission,  with  its 
new  Koyukuk  village  gradually  clustering  round  it.  The 
whole  scene  was  growing  into  almost  the  exact  realisa- 
tion of  my  dream  when  first  I  camped  on  this  spot  two 
years  and  nine  months  before.  There  was  a  distinct 
thrill  of  pleasure  at  the  sight  of  the  church.  Built  en- 
tirely of  logs  with  the  bark  on,  there  was  nothing  visible 
anywhere  about  it  but  spruce  bark,  save  for  the  gleam 
of  the  gilded  cross  that  surmounted  the  little  belfry. 
The  roof,  its  regular  construction  finished,  was  covered 
with  small  spruce  poles  with  the  bark  on,  nailed  together 
at  the  apex,  and  where  it  projected  well  beyond  the 
gables  its  under-side  was  covered  with  bark,  as  well  as 
the  cornice  all  round  that  finished  it  off.  Even  the 
window-frames  and  the  door-panels  were  covered  with 
bark.  It  was  of  the  same  tone  because  of  the  selfsame 
substance  as  the  forest  still  growing  around  it,  and  it 
gave  at  the  first  glance  the  satisfied  impression  of  fit- 
ness. It  gave  the  feeling  that  it  belonged  where  it  was 
placed.  It  is  ill  praising  one's  own  work,  but  I  had  been 
keen  to  see  how  it  would  strike  me,  fresh  from  the  out- 
side, after  a  year's  absence,  and  I  was  very  glad  indeed 
that  it  pleased  me  again. 

I  had  no  more  than  entered  upon  the  warm  welcome 
that  waited  at  Saint  John's-in-the-Wilderness,  and  was  still 
wondering  at  the  homelike  cosiness  which  the  mission 


1 84    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

house  had  assumed  under  the  deft  hands  of  the  two  ladies 
who  occupied  it,  when  there  came  an  Indian  with  word  of 
a  white  man  he  had  found  starving  in  the  wilderness 
fifteen  miles  away.  Another  native  with  a  dog  team  and 
a  supply  of  immediate  food  was  hastily  despatched  to 
bring  the  man  in,  and  that  night  the  poor  emaciated  fel- 
low, looking  like  a  man  of  sixty-five  or  seventy  though  he 
was  really  no  more  than  forty,  crawled  out  of  the  sled  and 
tottered  into  the  house.  He  had  started  out  from  Tan- 
ana  two  months  before  with  two  pack-horses  to  make  his 
way  across  to  the  Koyukuk  diggings,  had  lost  his  way  and 
wandered  aimlessly  in  that  vast  wilderness;  one  horse  had 
been  drowned,  the  other  he  had  killed  for  meat.  He  had 
made  a  raft  to  come  down  the  Kornutna  (Old  Man  Creek) 
to  the  Koyukuk,  knowing  that  there  was  a  trading-post 
near  its  mouth,  and  had  been  frozen  in  and  forced  to 
abandon  it.  Since  that  time  he  had  been  living  on  a  few 
spoonfuls  of  meal  a  day,  with  frozen  berries,  and  once  or 
twice  a  ptarmigan,  and  when  Ned  found  him  was  at  the 
last  extremity  and  had  given  up,  intending  to  die  where 
he  was. 

That  man's  hunger  was  tremendous,  but  Miss  Carter, 
having  knowledge  and  experience  of  such  cases,  was  ap- 
prehensive that  if  any  large  quantity  of  food  were  taken 
at  a  time  there  would  be  serious  danger  to  him.  So  for 
a  day  or  two  he  ate  frequently  but  sparingly.  A  little 
later,  as  he  grew  stronger,  to  such  extremes  did  his  hunger 
pinch  him  that  he  would  watch  till  there  was  no  one  look- 
ing and  would  go  into  the  kitchen  and  steal  food  that  was 
preparing,  even  taking  it  out  of  the  frying-pan  on  the 


A  STARVING  WHITE  MAN  185 

stove.  He  would  be  hungry  immediately  after  having  a 
full  meal.  In  ten  days  he  was  sufficiently  recovered  to 
resume  his  journey  to  the  diggings,  and  when  I  saw  him 
at  Coldfoot  two  months  later  I  did  not  recognise  him,  so 
greatly  had  he  changed  from  the  poor  shrunken  creature 
that  crept  into  the  mission.  We  all  think  we  have  been 
hungry  time  and  again ;  if  ever  we  have  gone  a  few  days 
on  short  rations  we  are  quite  sure  of  it;  this  man  had 
sounded  the  height  and  depth  and  stretched  the  length 
and  breadth  of  it,  and  none  of  the  rest  of  us  really  know 
what  hunger  means.  I  tried  to  get  him  to  talk  about  it, 
but  he  said  he  wanted  to  forget  it.  He  said  he  was 
ashamed  to  think  of  some  of  the  things  he  had  done  and 
of  some  of  the  terrible  thoughts  that  had  come  to  him, 
and  I  pressed  him  no  more.  I  have  always  felt  that,  even 
in  its  last  hideousness  of  cannibalism,  only  God  Himself 
can  judge  starvation. 

Here  began  my  first  experience  of  the  difficulties  of 
conducting  a  mission  at  the  same  place  for  two  different 
races  of  natives  speaking  totally  different  languages. 
Although  the  Indian  language  spoken  here  is  the  same 
as  at  Tanana,  and  much  of  the  liturgy,  etc.,  had  been  put 
into  that  tongue  by  Mr.  Prevost  and  was  therefore  avail- 
able, yet  it  was  found  impracticable  to  have  two  sets  of 
services  whenever  the  church  was  used,  for  both  races 
would  always  attend  anyway.  Since  the  mastery  of  the 
two  tongues  was  out  of  the  question,  and  there  were  no 
translations  at  all  into  the  Esquimau,  it  became  a  question 
of  teaching  the  Esquimaux  to  take  part  in  an  Indian  ser- 
vice or  dropping  both  vernaculars  altogether  and  con- 


1 86    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

ducting  the  service  in  English.  After  much  doubt  and 
experiment  the  latter  was  resolved  upon,  and  the  whole 
service  of  prayer  and  praise  is  in  English.  When  the 
lessons  are  read  and  the  address  delivered  it  is  necessary 
to  use  two  interpreters;  the  minister  delivers  his  sen- 
tence in  English,  then  the  Koyukuk  interpreter  puts  it 
in  Indian,  and  when  he  is  done  the  Esquimau  interpreter 
puts  it  into  that  tongue. 

It  is  a  very  tedious  business,  this  double  interpreta- 
tion and  a  twenty-minute  sermon  takes  fully  an  hour  to 
deliver,  but  there  is  no  help  for  it.  The  singing  is  hearty 
and  enthusiastic  though  the  repertory  is  wisely  very 
limited ;  and  here,  north  of  the  Arctic  Circle,  is  a  vested 
choir  of  eight  or  ten  Kobuk  and  Koyukuk  boys  who  lead 
the  singing  and  lead  it  very  well. 

Already  the  influence  of  the  mission  and  the  school 
was  very  marked.  Given  the  native  off  by  himself 
like  this,  in  the  hands  of  those  in  whom  he  has  learned 
to  place  entire  confidence,  remote  from  debasing  agen- 
cies, and  his  improvement  is  evident  and  his  survival 
assured. 

In  two  days  the  doctor  and  Arthur  and  the  team  came 
up,  and  so  was  brought  to  a  happy  conclusion  a  perilous 
journey  over  the  first  ice.  One  is  often  glad  to  have 
had  experiences  that  one  would  by  no  means  repeat,  and 
this  is  a  case  in  point.  We  had  learned  a  good  deal  about 
ice;  we  had  taken  liberties  with  ice  that  none  of  us  had 
ever  thought  before  could  be  taken  with  impunity;  we 
had  learned  to  trust  ice  and  at  the  same  time  to  distrust 
it  and  in  some  measure  to  discriminate  about  it.      The 


TWO  INTERPRETERS  187 

"last  Ice"  Is  bad,  but  the  "first  ice"  is  much  worse,  and 
all  three  of  us  were  agreed  that  we  wanted  no  more 
travelling  over  it  and  no  more  pulling  of  a  sled  *'by  the 
back  of  the  face." 

Then  followed  a  very  happy,  busy  time  of  several 
weeks  while  the  river  ice  was  consolidating  and  the  land 
trails  establishing;  happy  with  its  manifold  evidences  of 
the  rapid  advance  the  natives  were  making  under  Miss 
Carter's  able  and  beneficent  sway,  busy  with  the  in- 
struction of  people  eager  to  learn.  It  was  busy  and 
happy  for  Doctor  Burke  also;  busy  with  the  many  ail- 
ments he  relieved,  happy  with  the  beginnings  of  an  at- 
tachment which  two  years  later  culminated  in  his  mar- 
riage to  Miss  Carter's  colleague  at  this  mission. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   KOYUKUK  TO  THE  YUKON  AND  TO  TANANA— 

CHRISTMAS   HOLIDAYS   AT  SAINT  JOHN'S-IN- 

THE-WILDERNESS 

Leaving  Fort  Yukon  on  the  26th  of  November,  1909, 
and  going  again  over  almost  the  same  route  we  followed 
during  the  first  journey  described  in  this  volume,  we 
reached  the  new  mission  at  the  Allakaket  on  the  Koyukuk 
River  on  the  14th  of  December,  after  a  period  of  almost 
continual  cold.  The  climate  of  the  interior  of  Alaska 
varies  as  much  as  any  climate.  The  previous  year,  con- 
tinuing the  journey  described  in  "The  First  Ice,"  I  had 
passed  over  this  same  route  in  the  opposite  direction,  be- 
tween the  same  dates,  with  the  thermometer  well  above 
zero  the  whole  time.  This  trip  the  mean  of  the  minimum 
reading  at  night,  the  noon  reading,  and  the  reading  at 
start  and  finish  of  each  day's  journey  was  — 38>i°. 
Many  days  in  that  three  weeks  we  travelled  all  day  at 
45°  and  50°  below  zero,  and  we  spent  one  night  in  camp 
at  49°  below. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  a  severe  winter,  with  much 
snow  north  of  the  Yukon  and  long  periods  of  great  cold. 

The  two  weeks  or  so  spent  at  the  mission  of  Saint 
John's-in-the-Wilderness  was  enjoyed  as  only  a  rest  is  en- 
joyed after  making  such  a  journey;  as  only  Christmas  is 


BIRTH,   BURIAL,  AND  DANCING  189 

enjoyed  at  such  a  native  mission.  It  is  the  time  of  the 
whole  year  for  the  people ;  they  come  in  from  near  and  far 
intent  upon  the  festival  in  both  of  its  aspects,  religious 
and  social,  and  they  enter  so  heartily  into  all  that  is  pro- 
vided for  them  that  one  does  not  know  which  to  admire 
most,  their  simple,  earnest  piety  or  the  whole-hearted 
enthusiasm  of  their  sports  and  pastimes.  Right  out  of 
church  they  go  to  the  frozen  river,  old  men  and  maidens, 
young  men  and  matrons,  mothers  with  babies  on  their 
backs  and  their  skirts  tucked  up,  and  they  quickly  line 
up  and  are  kicking  the  football  stuffed  with  moose  hair 
and  covered  with  moose  hide  in  the  native  game  that 
their  forefathers  played  ages  before  "Rugby"  was  in- 
vented.* When  the  church-bell  rings,  back  they  all  troop 
again,  to  take  their  places  and  listen  patiently  and  rev- 
erently to  the  long,  double-interpreted  service,  the  babies 
still  on  their  mothers'  backs,  sometimes  asleep,  some- 
times waking  up  and  crying,  comforted  by  slinging  them 
round  and  applying  their  lips  to  the  fountain  of  nourish- 
ment and  solace= 

On  the  nights  when  there  is  no  church  service  there  is 
feasting  and  dancing.  The  native  dance  is  a  very  sim- 
ple affair,  entirely  without  any  objectionable  feature,  and 
one  cannot  see  any  reason  in  the  world  for  attempting 
to  suppress  it.  A  man  and  a  woman  get  out  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  floor  and  dance  opposite  one  another  without 
touching  at  all.  The  moccasined  toes  of  an  expert  man 
in  this  dance  move  with  surprising  rapidity,  the  woman, 
with  eyes  downcast,  the  picture  of  demureness,  sways 

*See  illustration,  p.  374. 


I90    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

slightly  from  side  to  side  and  moves  on  her  toes  in  rhythm 
to  the  man's  movement.  Presently  another  man  jumps 
up  and  the  first  man  yields  his  place;  then  another  woman 
comes  forward  and  the  first  woman  yields  her  place,  and 
so  the  dance  goes  on. 

For  a  variety,  of  late  years  there  is  an  occasional 
"white-man's  dance,"  of  the  quadrille  or  the  waltz  kind, 
but  the  natives  much  prefer  their  own  dancing.  Here  at 
the  AUakaket  the  presence  of  the  Esquimaux  adds  pic- 
turesqueness  and  strangeness,  and  the  Esquimau  dance, 
which  consists  of  a  series  of  jerky  attitudinisings,  with 
every  muscle  tense,  to  a  curious  monotonous  chant  and 
the  beating  of  a  drum,  is  a  never-failing  source  of  amuse- 
ment to  the  Indians. 

An  old  man's  funeral  in  the  morning  away  up  on  the 
high  bluff  overlooking  the  mission,  a  birth  in  the  evening, 
a  dance  the  same  night — so  goes  the  drama  of  life  in  this 
little,  isolated  native  world.  So  soon  as  these  people 
make  up  their  minds  that  one  of  their  number  is  sick 
unto  death  they  make  the  coffin,  for  when  trees  must  be 
felled  and  lumber  whipsawed  from  them,  it  is  well  to  be 
forehanded. 

There  is  one  old  woman  living  up  there  yet  whose 
coffin  had  been  made  three  times.  When  it  becomes  evi- 
dent that  the  unfavourable  prognosis  was  mistaken  the 
coffin  is  torn  apart  and  made  into  shelves  or  some  other 
article  of  household  utility.  It  seems  very  cold-blooded, 
but  it  is  easy  to  misjudge  these  people.  The  emotion  of 
grief  is  real  with  them,  I  believe,  but  transient.  They 
are  matter-of-fact  and  entirely  devoid  of  pretence,  and 


"BEFORE"  AND  "AFTER"  191 

when  once  a  funeral  has  taken  place  and  the  service  is  all 
over  they  dismiss  the  gloomy  event  from  their  minds  as 
soon  as  possible.  The  night  of  old  Mesuk's  death,  how- 
ever, there  were  fires  lighted  on  all  the  trails  and  before 
most  of  the  Esquimau  cabins,  the  object  of  which  was 
probably  to  frighten  the  spirit  away  from  the  dwellings 
of  the  living.  We  shall  get  the  better  of  these  supersti- 
tions by  and  by,  but  superstitions  die  hard,  not  only 
amongst  Esquimaux.  Moreover,  practices  like  this  linger 
as  traditional  practices  long  after  their  superstitious  con- 
tent is  dissipated,  and  men  of  feeling  do  not  wantonly 
lay  hands  on  ancient  traditional  custom.  I  think  that 
if  I  were  an  Esquimau  and  knew  that  from  immemorial 
antiquity  fires  had  been  lighted  on  the  trails  and  outside 
the  doors  upon  the  death  of  my  ancestors,  I  should  be 
tempted  to  kindle  them  myself  upon  an  occasion,  however 
firmly  I  held  the  Communion  of  Saints  and  the  Safe  Re- 
pose of  the  Blessed.  And  I  am  quite  sure  that  if  I  were 
a  Thlinket  I  should  set  up  a  totem-pole  despite  all  the 
missionaries  in  the  world.  When  one  comes  to  think 
about  it  dispassionately,  there  is  really  nothing  in  Christi- 
anity averse  to  the  kindling  of  corpse  fires  or  the  blazon- 
ing of  native  heraldry.  When  all  the  little  superstitions 
and  peculiar  picturesque  customs  are  abolished  out  of 
the  world  it  will  be  a  much  less  interesting  world  than 
it  is  to-day.  If  there  were  any  evidence  or  reason  to 
believe  that  morality  and  religion  will  be  furthered  by 
the  brow-beating  or  cajoling  of  the  little  peoples  into  a 
close  similitude  of  the  white  race  in  dress  and  manners 
and  customs,  all  other  considerations  would,  of  course. 


192    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

be  swallowed  up  in  a  glad  welcome  of  such  advance. 
But  almost  the  exact  opposite  is  true.  The  young  In- 
dian or  Esquimau,  who  by  much  mixing  with  white  men 
has  been  "wised  up,"  as  the  expressive  phrase  goes  here, 
is  commonly  one  of  the  least  useful,  the  least  attractive, 
the  least  moral  of  his  kind.  We  have  many  such  on  the 
Yukon — young  men  who  work  on  the  steamboats  in  the 
summer  and  do  odd  jobs  and  hang  around  the  stores  in 
winter,  and  will  not  condescend  to  fish  any  more  or  to 
hunt  or  trap  unless  driven  by  the  pinch  of  hunger. 
Show  me  an  Indian  who  affects  the  white  man  in  garb, 
in  speech,  in  general  habits,  and  external  characteristics, 
and  it  will  be  easy  to  show  an  Indian  whose  death  would 
be  little  loss  to  his  community  or  his  race;  while  the 
native  woman  who  aspires  to  dress  herself  like  a  white 
woman  has  very  commonly  the  purpose  of  attracting 
the  attention  of  the  white  men.  I  think  the  young 
Indian  man  I  recall  as  the  best  dressed,  most  debonair, 
and  most  completely  "civilised,"  was  living  in  idleness 
upon  the  bounty  of  the  white  trader  whom  every  one 
knew  to  be  his  wife's  paramour,  and  was  impudently 
careless  of  the  general  knowledge. 

Of  all  the  photographs  that  illustrate  missionary  pub- 
lications— and  I  have  contributed  enough  villainous  half- 
tones to  warrant  me  in  a  criticism — the  ones  I  dislike 
most  are  of  the  "Before  and  After"  type.  Here  is  a 
group  of  savages  clad  in  skins,  or  furs,  or  feathers,  or 
palm  fibre,  or  some  patient,  skilful  weave  of  native  wool 
or  grass;  in  each  case  clad  congruously  with  their  environ- 
ment and  out  of  the  products  it  affords.     Set  against  it  is 


A   BARREN  UNIFORMITY  193 

the  same  or  a  similar  group  clad  out  of  the  slop-shop,  clad 
in  hickory  shirts  and  blue-jean  trousers,  clad  so  that,  if 
faces  could  be  changed  as  easily  as  clothing,  they  would 
pass  for  any  commonplace  group  of  whites  anywhere. 
And,  as  if  such  change  were  in  itself  the  symbol  and  guar- 
antee of  a  change  from  all  that  is  brutal  and  idolatrous  to 
all  that  is  gentle  and  Christian,  there  follows  the  trium- 
phant "Before  and  After"  inscription.  All  the  fitness  has 
gone,  all  the  individuality,  all  the  clever  adaptation  of 
indigenous  material,  all  the  artistic  and  human  interest; 
and  a  self-conscious  smirk  of  superiority  radiates  over 
made-by-the-million  factory  garments  instead.  When- 
ever I  see  such  contrasting  photographs  there  comes  over 
me  a  shamed,  perverse  recollection  of  a  pair  of  engravings 
by  Hogarth,  usually  suppressed,  which  a  London  book- 
seller once  pulled  out  of  a  portfolio  in  the  back  room  of 
his  shop  and  showed  me.     They  bore  the  same  title. 

I  profess  myself  a  friend  of  the  native  tongue  because 
it  is  the  native  tongue — the  easy,  familiar,  natural  vehicle 
of  expression;  of  the  native  dress  because  it  is  almost 
always  comfortable  and  comely;  of  the  native  customs, 
whenever  they  are  not  unhealthy  or  demoralising,  be- 
cause they  are  the  distinctive  heritage  of  a  people;  and 
again,  of  tongue,  dress,  and  customs  alike,  if  you  will, 
simply  because  they  are  dissimilar. 

For  it  has  always  seemed  a  trumpery  notion  that  uni- 
formity in  these  things  has  any  connection  with  the 
upbuilding  of  a  people,  has  any  ethical  relation  at  all, 
and  I  have  always  wondered  that  so  trumpery  a  notion 
should  have  so  wide  an  influence.     Moreover,  is  it  not  a 


194    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

little  curious  that,  whereas  the  trend  of  biological  evolu- 
tion on  its  upward  course,  as  Spencer  assures  us,  is  to- 
wards differentiation  and  dissimilarity,  the  trend  of  so- 
ciological evolution  should  be  so  marked  towards  this 
bald  and  barren  uniformity?     But  these  be  deep  matters. 

I  have  never  been  able  to  join  in  the  reproach  of 
superciliousness  so  often  applied  to  the  lines  of  that 
noblest  of  missionary  hymns  in  which  Bishop  Heber 
asks,  "Can  we,  whose  souls  are  lighted  with  wisdom  from 
on  high.  Can  we,  to  men  benighted,  the  lamp  of  life 
deny?"  If  that  be  superciliousness,  it  is  an  essential 
superciliousness  of  Christianity  itself,  for  the  question 
lies  at  the  very  core  of  our  religion  and  will  not  cease  to 
be  asked  so  long  as  the  world  contains  those  who  believe 
with  all  their  hearts,  and  those  who  do  not  believe  be- 
cause they  have  not  heard.  I  never  listen  to  that  hymn 
without  emotion,  it  can  still  *' shake  me  like  a  cry  Of 
trumpets  going  by."  But  the  question  that  seems  to 
stir  the  souls  of  some  missionaries  and  most  school- 
teachers, *'Can  we  deny  to  these  unfortunate  heathen  our 
millinery,  our  'Old  Oaken  Bucket,'  our  Mr.  and  our 
Mrs.,"  leaves  me  quite  cold. 

Here  was  the  weekly  afternoon  routine  at  this  mis- 
sion, only  the  mornings  being  devoted  to  books  and 
classes:  On  Monday  the  children  brought  their  soiled 
clothes  of  the  week  to  the  schoolroom  and  washed  them; 
on  Tuesday  they  were  dried  and  ironed;  on  Wednesday 
they  were  mended;  on  Thursday  a  juvenile  "society"  did 
some  sort  of  work  for  another  mission;  on  Friday  every 
child  in  the  village  had  a  hot  bath.     Now,  let  a  routine  of 


MATTERS  METEOROLOGICAL  195 

that  sort  be  kept  up,  week  after  week,  month  after  month, 
year  after  year,  during  the  whole  school  life  of  a  child, 
and  it  is  bound  to  leave  its  mark;  and  there  is  no  other 
way  in  which  the  same  mark  may  be  made. 

At  the  Allakaket  is  fine  example  of  what,  I  think,  is 
the  best  rule  in  the  world  for  the  inferior  races — the  abso- 
lute rule  of  a  devoted,  intelligent,  capable  gentlewoman. 
We  are  but  now  writing  the  indentures  of  their  apprentice- 
ship to  self-government  in  the  elective  village  councils  we 
have  set  up;  it  is  good  for  them  to  serve  it  under  this 
loving  and  unquestioned  despotism. 

During  all  that  Christmas  season  the  temperature  was 
subject  to  such  violent  fluctuations  that  a  chart  of  them 
would  look  like  the  picture  showing  the  comparative 
heights  of  mountains,  that  used  to  be  presented  under 
"The  World  in  Hemispheres"  in  the  school  geographies. 
A  minimum  of  52°  below  zero  and  a  maximum  of  10° 
below,  was  followed  by  a  minimum  of  53°  below  and  a 
maximum  of  18°  below,  and  that  by  a  minimum  of  56° 
below  and  a  maximum  of  14°  below,  while  on  Christmas 
Day  itself  we  registered  a  minimum  of  58°  below  zero  and 
a  maximum  of  1°  above,  a  range  of  59°  in  less  than  twelve 
hours.  At  a  time  of  the  year  when  the  sun  has  scarcely 
any  effect  upon  the  temperature  such  tremendous  changes 
point  to  corresponding  atmospheric  disturbances,  and 
each  rise  was  caused  by  the  irruption  of  clouds  upon  a 
clear  sky  and  was  followed  by  a  fall  of  snow. 

It  is  a  beautifully  simple  process.  Driven  into  these 
regions  by  some  compelling  current  of  the  upper  atmos- 
phere comes  a  mass  of  warm  air  laden  with  moisture — a 


196    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

cloud.  As  it  comes  in  contact  with  the  cold  air  of  the 
region  it  parts  with  its  heat,  and  the  temperature  of  the 
lower  air  rises.  Having  parted  with  its  heat,  it  can  no 
longer  contain  its  moisture;  and,  having  parted  with  its 
moisture,  it  ceases  to  exist.  The  cold  of  the  earth  and  of 
its  immediate  air  envelope  has  seized  upon  that  cloud 
and  devoured  it,  and  the  cold  resumes  its  sway.  So  have 
I  opened  the  door  of  a  crowded  cabin,  when  an  Indian 
dance  or  other  gathering  was  in  progress,  at  50°  or  60° 
below  zero,  and  the  cold,  dry  air  meeting  the  hot,  moist 
air  has  caused  an  immediate  fall  of  snow  on  the  threshold. 

After  the  abrupt  rise  in  temperature  on  Christmas 
Day,  the  snow  began  to  fall  heavily,  with  a  barometer 
continually  falling  until  it  reached  27.98  inches,  the  low- 
est point  recorded  here  (at  an  elevation  of  about  500  feet 
above  the  sea)  in  two  years  and  a  half — and  before  the 
snow  ceased  three  feet  had  fallen. 

Our  winter  itinerary  called  us  to  leave  the  Allakaket 
immediately  after  New  Year's  Day,  and  our  route  lay 
overland  through  a  totally  uninhabited  country  for  nearly 
one  hundred  and  fifty  miles,  to  Tanana  on  the  Yukon. 
We  knew  that  it  would  not  greatly  interfere  with  our 
plans  to  lie  another  week  at  the  Allakaket,  and  that 
would  bring  our  departure  after  the  monthly  journey  of 
the  mail-carrier  and  would  thus  compel  him  to  break 
trail  for  us  through  all  that  snow.  That  is  the  way  the 
mail-carriers  in  Alaska  are  usually  treated,  but  Arthur 
and  I  took  some  pride  in  keeping  as  closely  as  possible 
to  the  announced  dates  of  visitation  and  in  doing  such 
share  of  trail  breaking  as  fell  to  us. 


TRAIL   BREAKING  197 

So  on  Monday,  the  3d  of  January,  1910,  we  bade 
farewell  to  Deaconess  Carter  and  her  colleague  and  to 
the  native  charges  they  rule  and  care  for  so  admirably, 
and  set  out  on  our  journey  with  an  additional  boy  from 
the  mission  to  help  us  through  the  heavy  snow  of  the 
Koyukuk  valley.  For  ten  or  twelve  miles  the  way  lay 
down  the  river,  and  the  going  was  slow  and  toilsome  from 
the  first,  although  there  had  been  some  passage  from 
Moses'  Village  to  the  mission,  and  there  was,  therefore, 
some  trail.  Our  start  had  been  late — it  is  next  to  im- 
possible to  get  an  early  start  from  a  mission;  there  is 
always  some  native  who  must  have  audience  at  the  last 
moment — and  after  the  long  repose  we  were  so  soft  that 
the  heavy  trail  had  wearied  us,  and  we  decided  to  "call 
it  a  day"  when  in  five  and  a  half  hours  we  came  to  the 
road-house,  the  last  occupied  habitation  between  the 
AUakaket  and  Xanana.  Soon  after  we  reached  the  vil- 
lage there  came  trooping  down  from  the  mission  a  num- 
ber of  the  inhabitants  gone  up  for  Christmas,  who,  after 
weeping  upon  our  necks,  so  to  speak,  at  our  departure, 
had  left  us  to  break  out  that  drifted  trail  for  their  con- 
venient return.  So  will  Indians  treat  a  white  man  almost 
always,  but  I  had  thought  myself  an  exception  and  was 
vexed  to  find  that  so  they  had  treated  me. 

The  next  morning  we  entered  the  uninhabited  wilder- 
ness with  three  feet  of  new  snow  on  the  trail  and  no  pas- 
sage over  it  since  it  had  fallen.  Our  first  trouble  was 
finding  the  trail  at  all.  The  previous  fall  the  Alaska 
Road  Commission  had  appropriated  a  sum  of  money  to 
stake  this  trail  from  Tanana  to  the  Koyukuk  River,  for 


198    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

it  passes  over  wind-swept,  treeless  wastes,  where  many 
men  had  lost  their  way.  Starting  out  from  Tanana,  the 
men  employed  had  done  their  work  well  until  within  ten 
miles  of  the  Koyukuk  River.  There  it  was  found  that 
the  labour  and  cost  already  expended  had  exhausted  the 
appropriation,  whereupon  the  proceedings  were  imme- 
diately stopped;  not  another  stake  was  driven,  and  the 
whole  party  returned  to  Tanana  and  mushed  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  miles  up  the  Yukon  to  spend  another  little 
appropriation  upon  another  trail.  That  is  the  unbusi- 
nesslike system  in  which  the  money  available  for  such 
work  in  Alaska  has  been  handled. 

The  first  trail  breaker  goes  ahead  with  a  long  stick, 
which  he  thrusts  continually  down  through  the  snow. 
The  slightly  harder  surface  over  which  sleds  and  dogs 
have  passed  reveals  itself  by  offering  more  resistance  to 
the  penetration  of  the  stick,  and  that  is  the  only  way  the 
trail  can  be  found.  Even  with  three  feet  of  new  snow 
upon  it,  it  is  well  worth  while  finding,  or  otherwise  there 
is  no  bottom  at  all  and  way  must  be  made  through  all 
the  snow  of  the  winter.  But  all  Alaskan  trails  are  ser- 
pentine, and  it  is  very  difficult  to  put  the  new  trail  right 
on  top  of  the  old  one.  Back  and  forth  the  second  trail 
breaker  goes  between  his  leader  and  the  sled,  and  at 
intervals  the  first  man  comes  back  and  forth  also.  And 
with  it  all  is  no  path  packed  solid  enough  for  the  dogs  to 
draw  the  heavy  sled  without  great  difficulty.  We  should 
have  had  a  toboggan,  but  toboggans  are  little  used  on 
the  Koyukuk,  and  we  had  only  our  sled.  In  five  hours 
we  made  five  miles  and  were  worn  out.     We  decided  to 


DOG  DRIVING  199 

pitch  our  tent  and  go  ahead  and  break  trail  for  the  mor- 
row's journey.  On  the  lakes  interspersed  amongst  the 
brush  we  had  to  break  an  entirely  new  trail,  for  we  could 
find  no  trace  of  the  old  one. 

If  five  miles  in  five  hours  be  poor  going,  what  is  four 
miles  in  seven  and  a  half  hours  ?  That  is  all  we  made  the 
next  day  despite  the  snow-shoeing  of  the  previous  evening. 
The  heavy  sled  was  continually  getting  off  the  trail,  how- 
ever wide  we  show-shoed  it.  The  two  of  us  ahead  went 
over  every  step  of  the  distance  four  or  five  times,  and 
sometimes  all  of  us  had  to  go  back  and  forth  again  and 
again  before  the  sled  could  be  brought  along  at  all.  It 
was  from  5°  to  10°  above  zero  all  day,  and  at  inter- 
vals snow  fell  heavily.  We  got  at  last  to  the  middle 
of  a  little  lake  and  were  confronted  by  open  water,  the 
result  of  some  warm  spring,  one  supposes.  Here  we  must 
stop  until  a  laborious  journey  was  made  to  the  bank, 
trees  were  cut  and  carried,  and  the  open  place  bridged  so 
that  the  sled  might  be  passed  over  it.  Then  again  our 
painful  progress  was  resumed  until,  as  it  grew  dark, 
we  reached  the  bank  of  the  Kornutna,  or  Old  Man 
Creek,  and  here  we  pitched  tent  again,  and  I  went  for- 
ward upon  the  bed  of  the  stream  to  break  out  a  part  of 
to-morrow's  path.  That  night  two  more  inches  of  snow 
fell. 

For  four  miles  the  trail  lies  along  the  surface  of  this 
creek,  and  then  takes  up  a  steep  gully  and  over  a  divide. 
That  four  miles  was  all  we  made  the  next  day,  back  and 
forth,  back  and  forth,  wearily  tramping  it  to  and  fro, 
dogs  and  men  alike  exhausted  with  the  toil.     The  hate- 


200    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

fulness  of  dog  mushing  usually  appears  under  such  circum- 
stances; the  whip  is  constantly  plied,  the  senseless  objur- 
gations rise  shriller  and  fuller.  Once  the  sled  is  started,  it 
must  by  any  means  be  kept  going,  that  as  great  a  distance 
as  possible  may  be  covered  before  it  stops  again.  The  poor 
brutes,  sinking  almost  to  their  bellies  despite  the  snow- 
shoeing,  have  no  purchase  for  the  exercise  of  their  strength 
and  continually  flounder  and  wallow.  Our  whip  was  lost 
and  I  was  glad  of  it,  for  even  as  considerate  a  boy  as 
Arthur  is  apt  to  lose  patience  and  temper  when,  having 
started  the  sled  with  much  labour  by  gee  pole  and  rope 
about  his  chest,  it  goes  but  a  few  feet  and  comes  to  a 
halt  again,  or  slips  from  the  track  and  turns  over  in  the 
deep  snow.  But  it  is  at  such  times,  too,  that  one  appre- 
ciates at  his  full  value  such  a  noble  puller  as  our  wheel 
dog  Nanook.  He  spares  himself  not  at  all;  the  one  ab- 
sorbing occupation  of  every  nerve  and  muscle  of  his 
body  is  pulling.  His  trace  is  always  taut,  or,  if  he  lose 
footing  for  a  moment  and  the  trace  slacken,  he  is  up  and 
at  it  again  that  the  sled  lose  not  its  momentum  if  he  can 
help  it.  When  the  lead  line  is  pulled  back  that  the  sled 
may  be  started  by  the  jerk  of  the  dogs'  sudden  traction, 
Nanook  lunges  forward  at  the  command,  "Mush!"  and 
strains  at  the  collar,  mouth  open  and  panting,  tongue 
dropping  moisture,  as  keen  and  eager  to  keep  that  sled 
moving  as  is  the  driver  himself.  All  day  he  labours  and 
struggles,  snatching  a  mouthful  of  snow  now  and  then  to 
cool  his  overheated  body,  and  he  drops  in  his  tracks  when 
the  final  halt  is  made,  utterly  weary,  yet  always  with 
the  brave  heart  in  him  to  give  his  bark,  his  five-note  char- 


VIOLENT  FLUCTUATIONS  201 

acteristic  bark  of  gladness,  that  the  day's  work  is  done  at 
last.  It  is  senseless  brutality  to  whip  such  a  dog,  and 
most  of  our  dogs  were  of  that  mettle,  though  Nanook  was 
the  strongest  and  most  faithful  of  the  bunch.  One's  heart 
goes  out  to  them  with  gratitude  and  love — old  **  Lingo," 
"Nig,"  "Snowball,"  "Wolf,"  and  "Doc"— as  one  realises 
what  loyal,  cheerful  service  they  give. 

Arthur  was  so  unwell  with  a  violent  cold  and  cough, 
that  had  been  growing  worse  for  a  couple  of  days,  that  I 
decided  on  two  things:  to  leave  him  in  the  tent  while  I 
snow-shoed  ahead  the  next  day,  and  to  send  back  the  boy 
I  had  brought  from  the  mission  to  secure  a  fresh  supply 
of  food ;  for  the  back  trail  was,  of  course,  comparatively 
easy.  Arthur's  condition  threatened  pneumonia,  to  my 
notion,  and  I  believe  he  was  saved  from  an  attack  of  that 
disease  which  is  so  often  fatal  in  this  country  by  long 
rubbing  all  over  the  neck  and  the  chest  with  a  remedy 
that  was  new  then — a  menthol  balm.  I  have  used  it 
again  and  again  since  and  I  am  now  never  without  it.  A 
second  application  made  in  the  morning,  I  started  out, 
show-shoeing  up  the  long  hill  and  then  down  into  the 
flat,  and  so  to  the  mail-carrier's  little  hut  that  is  reached 
under  good  conditions  of  trail  the  first  day  from  Moses' 
Village,  and  then  back  again  to  the  tent.  That  day  a  ten- 
don in  my  right  leg  behind  the  knee  became  increasingly 
troublesome,  and  in  climbing  the  hill  on  the  return  was 
acutely  painful.  I  recognised  it  as  "mal-de-raquet,"  well 
known  in  the  Northwest,  where  the  snow  is  commonly 
much  deeper  than  in  Alaska,  and  I  found  relief  in  the 
application  of  the  same  analgesic  menthol  balm  that  I 


202    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

was  rejoiced  to  find  had  wrought  a  great  improvement  in 
Arthur's  condition. 

Meanwhile  the  warm  weather  of  the  past  three  or 
four  days  was  over  and  another  period  of  violent  fluctu- 
ations of  temperature  similar  to  that  around  Christmas- 
tide  was  upon  us.  We  went  to  bed  with  the  thermom- 
eter at  io°  below  zero  and  were  wakened  by  the  cold  at 
two  in  the  morning  to  find  it  at  40°  below,  so  we  had  to 
keep  a  fire  going  the  rest  of  the  night;  for  as  soon  as  the 
fire  in  the  stove  goes  out  a  tent  becomes  just  as  cold  as 
outdoors. 

We  moved  forward  the  next  morning,  but  the  trail 
we  had  broken  was  too  narrow  and  had  to  be  widened, 
which  meant  one  snow-shoe  in  the  deep  snow  all  the  time, 
a  very  fatiguing  process  that  brought  into  painful  play 
again  the  tendon  strained  with  five  days'  heavy  snow- 
shoeing. 

The  temperature  was  around  40°  below  all  day,  and 
our  progress  was  so  slow  that  it  was  not  easy  to  keep 
warm,  and  the  dogs  whined  at  the  innumerable  stops. 
Yesterday  it  had  been  10°  below,  the  day  before  10° 
above,  and  now,  to-day,  40°  below.  It  is  hard  to  dress 
for  such  changeable  weather,  especially  hard  to  dress  the 
feet.  My  own  wear,  all  the  winter  through,  is  a  pair  of 
smoke-tanned,  moose-hide  breeches,  tanned  on  the  Yukon 
but  tailored  outside.  They  are  a  perfect  windbreak,  yet 
allow  ventilation,  and  they  are  very  warm;  but  those 
who  perspire  much  on  exertion  cannot  wear  them.  The 
amount  of  covering  upon  the  feet  must  be  varied,  in  some 
measure  at  least,  as  the  temperature  changes.     The  Es- 


SIXTY-FIVE   BELOW  ZERO  203 

quimau  fur  boot,  with  fur  on  the  inside  of  the  sole  and  on 
the  outside  of  the  upper,  is  my  favourite  footwear,  with 
more  or  less  of  sock  inside  it  as  the  weather  requires;  but 
such  sudden  changes  as  we  were  experiencing  always  find 
one  or  leave  one  with  too  much  or  too  little  footwear. 
By  one-thirty  we  had  struggled  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  and 
it  was  very  evident  that  the  cabin  was  out  of  the  ques- 
tion that  day;  so,  since  to  pass  down  into  the  flat  was  to 
pass  out  of  eligible  camping  timber,  we  pitched  tent  on 
the  brow  of  the  hill. 

The  cold  business  of  making  camp  was  done,  all  dis- 
positions for  the  night  complete,  supper  for  men  and 
dogs  was  cooked  and  ours  eating,  when  we  heard  a  noise 
in  the  distance  that  set  our  dogs  barking  and  presently 
came  the  boy  I  had  sent  back,  accompanied  by  an  Indian 
and  a  fresh  team  loaded  with  such  a  bountiful  supply  of 
food,  much  of  it  cooked,  that  one  felt  it  was  worth  while 
to  get  into  distress  to  receive  such  generous  and  prompt 
succour.  The  ladies  at  the  mission  had  sat  up  and  cooked 
all  night  and  had  despatched  the  fastest  team  in  the  vil- 
lage the  next  morning  to  bring  their  provisions  to  us  and 
to  help  us  along.  They  had  thought  us  at  Tanana  when 
we  were  not  yet  at  the  end  of  the  first  day's  stage  from 
Moses'  Village.  It  would  have  been  impossible  for  us  to 
reach  Tanana  on  the  dog  food  and  man  food  we  started 
with. 

It  was  so  cold  and  we  were  so  crowded  that  I  arose  at 
three  and  made  a  fire  and  sat  over  it  the  rest  of  the  night, 
and  after  breakfast,  although  it  was  Sunday,  morning 
prayer  being  said,  I  started  ahead  again  to  break  out  the 


204    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

trail  deeper  and  wider,  leaving  the  teams  with  the  dis- 
tributed loads  to  follow.  The  thermometer  stood  at  38° 
below  zero  when  I  left  camp,  but  as  I  began  the  descent  it 
was  evident  that  it  grew  colder,  and  at  the  bottom  of  the 
hill  I  was  sure  it  was  20°  colder  at  least.  Reaching  the 
cabin,  I  kindled  a  fire  and  started  back  to  meet  the  teams. 
About  a  mile  from  the  cabin  I  saw  them,  for,  since  the  load 
was  distributed  in  the  two  sleds  progress  was  much  better; 
but  by  this  time  it  had  grown  so  cold  that  the  dogs  were 
almost  entirely  obscured  from  view  by  the  clouds  of  steam 
that  encompassed  them.  We  hurried  as  best  we  might 
and  reached  the  cabin  about  eleven,  and  as  soon  as  we 
were  arrived  I  took  out  the  thermometer  and  let  it  lie 
long  enough  to  get  the  temperature  of  the  air,  and  it  read 
65°  below  zero.  There  had  been  no  atmospheric  change  at 
all;  it  was  simply  the  most  marked  instance  I  ever  knew 
of  the  influence  of  altitude  upon  temperature.  We  had 
descended  perhaps  three  hundred  feet,  and  in  that  dis- 
tance had  found  a  difference  of  27°  in  temperature. 

The  cabin  was  a  wretched  shack  without  door  or  win- 
dow and  full  of  holes,  and  in  no  part  of  it  could  one  stand 
upright.  We  set  ourselves  to  make  things  as  comfort- 
able as  possible,  however,  rigging  up  the  canvas  sled 
cover  for  an  outer  door  and  a  blanket  for  an  inner  door, 
and  stopping  up  the  worst  of  the  holes  with  sacking. 
Then  we  went  out  and  cut  fresh  spruce  boughs  to  lie  upon, 
and  prospected  around  quite  a  while  before  we  found  dry 
wood  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away.  It  was  quite  a 
business  cutting  that  wood  and  packing  the  heavy  sticks 
on  one's  shoulders,  through  the  brush  and  up  and  down 


SEVENTY  BELOW  ZERO  205 

the  banks  of  the  Httle  creek  where  it  grew,  on  snow-shoes, 
at  65°  below  zero. 

Our  Sabbath  day's  journey  done,  the  hut  safely 
reached  and  furnished  with  fuel,  we  did  not  linger  long 
after  supper,  but,  evening  prayer  said,  went  to  bed  as  the 
most  comfortable  place  in  the  still  cold  cabin,  thankful 
not  to  be  in  a  tent  in  such  severe  weather. 

The  next  day  gave  us  fresh  temperature  fluctuations. 
At  nine  a.  m.  it  clouded  and  rose  to  35°  below,  by  noon  it 
had  cleared  again  and  the  thermometer  fell  to  55°  below, 
and  at  nine  p.  m.  it  stood  once  more  at  65°  below.  The 
milder  weather  of  the  morning  sent  all  hands  out  breaking 
trail,  save  myself,  for  with  all  our  stuff  in  a  cabin  without 
a  door  it  was  not  wise  to  leave  it  altogether — a  dog 
might  break  a  chain  and  work  havoc — so  I  stayed  behind 
in  the  little  dark  hovel,  a  candle  burning  all  day,  and  read 
some  fifty  pages  of  Boswell's  Life  of  Samuel  Johnson 
over  again.  Some  such  little  India-paper  classic  it  is  my 
habit  to  carry  each  winter.  Last  year  I  reread  Pepys's 
Diary  and  the  year  before  much  of  the  Decline  and  Fall. 
Certain  places  are  for  ever  associated  in  my  mind  with  the 
rereading  of  certain  old  books.  The  Chandalar  River  is 
to  me  as  much  the  scene  of  Lorna  Doone,  which  I  read  for 
the  sixth  or  seventh  time  on  my  first  journey  along  it,  as 
Exmoor  itself;  and  The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth,  that  no- 
ble historical  romance,  belongs  in  my  literary  geography 
to  the  Alatna-Kobuk  portage.  So  will  Boswell  always 
bring  back  to  me  this  trip  across  country  from  the  Koyu- 
kuk  to  the  Yukon  through  the  deep  snow. 

The  boys  came  back  after  dark,  having  broken  some 


2o6    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

nine  miles  of  trail  and  having  suffered  a  good  deal  from 
the  cold.  I  had  supper  cooked,  and  when  that  was  done 
and  the  dogs  fed  we  fell  to  reading  the  Gospels  and 
Epistles  for  the  Epiphany  season,  the  boys  reading  aloud 
by  turns.  The  all-day  fire  had  warmed  the  little  hut 
thoroughly,  and  despite  the  cold  outside  we  were  snug  and 
comfortable  within. 

That  night  the  thermometer  touched  70°  below  zero, 
within  2°  of  the  greatest  cold  I  have  recorded  in  seven 
years'  winter  travel;  a  greater  cold,  I  believe,  than  any 
arctic  expedition  has  ever  recorded,  for  it  is  in  a  continen- 
tal climate  like  Siberia  or  interior  Alaska,  and  not  in  the 
marine  climate  around  the  North  Pole,  that  the  ther- 
mometer falls  lowest. 

Save  for  an  hour  or  two  getting  wood,  we  all  lay  close 
next  day,  for  the  temperature  at  noon  was  no  higher 
than  64°  below.  It  is  impossible  to  break  trail  at  such 
temperature,  or  to  travel  as  slowly  as  we  were  travelling. 
In  the  strong  cold  one  must  travel  fast  if  one  travel  at  all. 
Indeed,  it  is  distinctly  dangerous  to  be  outdoors.  As 
soon  as  one  leaves  the  hut  the  cold  smites  one  in  the  face 
like  a  mailed  fist.  The  expiration  of  the  breath  makes  a 
crackling  sound,  due,  one  judges,  to  the  sudden  congealing 
of  the  moisture  that  is  expelled.  From  every  cranny  of 
the  cabin  a  stream  of  smoke-like  vapour  pours  into  the 
air,  giving  the  appearance  that  the  house  is  on  fire  within. 
However  warmly  hands  and  feet  may  be  clad,  one  can- 
not stand  still  for  a  minute  without  feeling  the  heat 
steadily  oozing  out  and  the  cold  creeping  in. 

Notwithstanding  the  weather,  that  evening  the  mail 


CLOSE  QUARTERS  207 

came  along,  the  white  man  who  is  the  carrier,  two  tall, 
strong  natives,  and  nine  dogs.  Only  since  descending 
to  the  flat  had  they  suffered  from  the  cold,  for  they  found 
as  great  a  difference  as  we  did  in  the  temperature;  and 
they  were  grateful  to  us  for  the  trail  we  had  broken. 
The  hut  was  uncomfortably  crowded  that  night  with 
seven  people  in  it,  but  the  thermometer  stood  at  — 56° 
and  was  rising,  and  gave  us  hope  that  we  might  move 
along  to-morrow.  Augmented  as  our  party  was  into 
seven  men,  three  sleds,  and  nineteen  or  twenty  dogs, 
trail  breaking  would  not  be  so  arduous  and  progress 
would  be  much  accelerated.  There  was  good  hope,  more- 
over, that  the  heavy  snow  was  confined  to  the  Koyukuk 
valley  and  that  when  we  passed  out  of  it  we  should  find 
better  going. 

The  morning  found  a  temperature  of  45°  below,  and 
we  sallied  forth,  quite  an  expedition.  Four,  including 
myself,  went  ahead  beating  down  the  trail ;  one  was  at  each 
gee  pole,  our  team  last,  getting  advantage  of  everything 
preceding.  So  far  as  the  trail  had  been  broken  we  made 
good  time,  covering  the  nine  miles  in  about  four  hours. 
Another  hour  of  somewhat  slower  progress  took  us  to 
the  top  of  a  hill,  and  here  the  mail-carrier's  two  Indians 
had  run  ahead  and  built  a  great,  roaring  fire  and  arranged 
a  wide,  commodious  couch  of  spruce  boughs,  and  we 
cooked  our  lunch  and  took  our  ease  for  half  an  hour. 
The  sky  had  clouded  again  and  the  temperature  had  risen 
to  28°  below. 

It  is  strange  how  some  scenes  of  the  trail  linger  in  the 
memory,  while  others  are   completely   forgotten.     This 


2o8    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

noon  halt  I  always  remember  as  one  of  the  pleasantest 
of  all  my  journeyings.  There  was  not  a  breath  of  wind, 
and  the  smoke  rose  straight  into  the  air  instead  of  volley- 
ing and  eddying  into  one's  face  as  camp-fires  so  often  do 
on  whichever  side  of  them  one  sits.  We  were  all  weary 
with  our  five  hours'  trudge,  and  the  rest  was  grateful; 
hungry,  and  the  boiled  ham  they  had  sent  from  the  mis- 
sion was  delicious.  The  warmth  of  the  great  fire  and 
the  cosiness  of  the  thick,  deep  spruce  boughs  gave  solid 
comfort,  and  the  pipe  after  the  meal  was  a  luxurious 
enjoyment. 

From  that  on  the  going  was  heavier  and  our  progress 
slower,  but  we  kept  at  it  till  dark,  and  still  far  into  the 
night,  fortunate  in  having  two  Indians  who  knew  every 
step  of  the  way,  until  at  last  we  reached  the  hut  that 
marks  the  end  of  the  second  stage  from  the  Koyukuk 
River,  on  the  top  of  a  birch  hill.  We  had  made  nineteen 
and  a  half  miles  that  day  and  had  taken  eleven  hours 
to  do  it. 

If  the  noon  rest  be  remembered  as  one  of  the  pleas- 
antest episodes  of  the  trail,  that  night  in  the  cabin  on  the 
hill  I  recall  as  one  of  the  most  miserable  in  my  life.  The 
hut  was  still  smaller  than  the  previous  one,  like  it  without 
door  and  window,  and  so  low  that  one  was  bent  double  all 
the  time.  Walls  and  roof  alike  were  covered  with  a 
thick  coating  of  frost.  The  only  wood  discoverable  in 
the  dark  was  half-dry  birch  which  would  not  burn  in  the 
stove  but  sent  out  volumes  of  smoke  that  blinded  us. 
When  the  hut  did  begin  to  get  a  little  warm,  moisture 
from  the  roof  dropped  on  everything.     There  we  seven 


THE  STAKED  TRAIL  209 

men  huddled  together,  chilly  and  damp,  choked  and 
weary — a  wretched  band.  There  was  no  room  for  the 
necessary  cooking  operations;  we  had  to  cook  and  eat 
in  relays;  and  how  we  slept,  in  what  way  seven  men 
managed  to  pack  themselves  and  stretch  themselves  in 
those  narrow  quarters,  I  cannot  tell.  However,  we  said 
our  prayers  and  went  to  bed,  snow  falling  heavily.  The 
Indians  were  soon  snoring,  but  sleep  would  not  come  to 
me,  tired  as  I  was,  and  I  had  not  slept  at  all  the  pre- 
vious night.  So  presently  I  took  trional,  X  grs.,  and 
dozed  off  till  morning. 

Then  we  resolved  to  divide  forces  rather  than  subject 
ourselves  to  the  miserable  inconvenience  of  overcrowd- 
ing these  tiny  huts,  and  at  this  stage  of  the  journey  it 
was  possible  to  do  so  without  losing  a  whole  day,  for 
there  was  a  cabin  for  the  noon  rest.  It  was  arranged  that 
the  mail-man  should  start  first  and  make  the  full  day's 
run  if  possible,  while  we  should  "call  it  a  day"  at  the 
half-way  hut. 

So  Bob  and  his  Indians  sallied  forth  while  yet  my  boys 
were  reading  their  lessons  to  me,  and  when  they  were 
done  we  hitched  up  and  followed.  And  as  soon  as  we 
were  down  the  hill  and  started  along  the  bald  flat,  it  was 
evident  that  we  were  out  of  the  deep  snowfall,  for  the 
present  at  any  rate,  and  we  plucked  up  spirit,  for  we 
were  now  to  cross  the  wide,  open,  wind-swept  uplands  of 
the  headwaters  of  the  Melozitna  and  Tozitna,  tributaries 
of  the  Yukon — the  "Tozi"  and  "Melozi,"  as  the  white 
men  call  them — where  snow  never  lies  deep  or  long.  We 
were  out  of  the  Koyukuk  watershed  now  and  in  country 


2IO    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

drained  by  direct  tributaries  of  the  Yukon.  The  going 
was  now  incomparably  the  best  we  had  had  since  we  left 
the  mission,  the  snow  was  light  and  we  had  the  mail- 
carrier's  trail;  but,  although  the  temperature  had  risen  to 
21°  below,  a  keen  wind  put  our  parkee  hoods  up  and  our 
scarfs  around  our  faces  and  made  our  60°  below  cloth- 
ing none  too  warm.  In  three  hours  we  had  reached  the 
Melozi  cabin,  although  that  had  included  the  climbing 
of  a  long,  steep  hill,  and  here  we  stayed  for  the  rest  of 
the  day  and  night  and  shot  some  ptarmigan  for  supper, 
though  we  could  easily  have  gone  on  and  made  the  rest 
of  the  run. 

The  next  day  I  sent  the  auxiliary  sled  and  team  and 
driver  back  to  the  AUakaket,  keeping  the  mission  boy 
with  me,  however,  to  return  with  the  mail-carrier,  who 
was  already  late  and  must  go  back  as  soon  as  he  reached 
Tanana.  I  parted  with  the  Indian  regretfully,  for  he 
had  been  most  helpful  and  always  good-natured  and 
cheerful,  and  had  really  begun  to  learn  a  little  at  our 
travelling  night-school. 

A  high  wind  was  blowing,  with  the  thermometer  at  12° 
below,  and  the  mail-man's  trail  was  already  drifted  over 
and  quite  indistinguishable  in  the  dark,  and  we  began 
to  appreciate  the  recent  staking  of  this  trail  by  the  Road 
Commission.  But  for  these  stakes,  set  double,  a  hundred 
yards  apart,  so  that  they  formed  a  lane,  it  would  have 
been  difficult  if  not  impossible  for  us  to  travel  on  a  day 
like  this,  for  here  was  a  stretch  of  sixteen  or  seventeen 
miles  with  never  a  tree  and  hardly  the  smallest  bush. 
The  wind   blew  stronger  and   stronger  directly  in  our 


THE  ARCTIC  SKIES  211 

faces  as  we  rose  out  of  the  Melozitna  basin  on  the  hill 
that  is  its  watershed,  and  when  the  summit  was  reached 
and  we  turned  and  looked  back  there  was  nothing  visible 
but  a  white,  wind-swept  waste.  But  ahead  all  the  snow 
was  most  beautifully  and  delicately  tinted  from  the  re- 
flection of  the  dawn  on  ragged  shredded  clouds  that 
streamed  across  the  southeastern  sky.  Where  the  sky 
was  free  of  cloud  it  gave  a  wonderful  clear  green  that 
was  almost  but  not  quite  the  colour  of  malachite.  It  was 
exactly  the  colour  of  the  water  the  propeller  of  a  steam- 
ship churns  up  where  the  Atlantic  Ocean  shallows  to  the 
rocky  shore  of  the  north  coast  of  Ireland.  The  clouds 
themselves  caught  a  deep  dull  red  from  the  sunrise,  which 
the  snow  gave  back  in  blush  pink.  Such  an  exquisite 
colour  harmony  did  the  scene  compose  that  the  wind, 
lulling  for  a  moment  on  the  crest  of  the  hill,  seemed 
charmed  into  peace  by  it. 

The  feast  of  colour  brought  a  train  of  colour  memo- 
ries, one  hard  upon  the  heels  of  another,  as  we  went  down 
the  hill;  the  Catbells,  this  golden  with  bracken,  that  pur- 
ple with  heather,  and  each  doubled  in  the  depths  of  Der- 
wentwater;  an  October  morning  in  the  hardwood  forests 
of  the  mountains  of  Tennessee,  when  for  half  an  hour 
every  gorgeous  tint  of  red  and  yellow  was  lavishly 
flaunted — and  then  the  whole  pride  and  splendour  of  it 
wiped  out  at  once  by  a  wind  that  sprang  up;  the  en- 
circling and  towering  reds  and  pinks  of  a  gigantic  amphi- 
theatre of  rock  in  the  Dolomites;  a  patch  of  flowers  right 
against  the  snow  in  the  high  Rockies,  so  intensely  blue 
that  it  seemed  the  whole  vault  of  heaven  could  be  tine- 


212    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

tured  with  the  pigment  that  one  petal  would  distil.  And, 
more  inspiring  than  them  all,  there  came  the  recollection 
of  that  wonderful  sunrise  and  those  blazing  mountains  of 
the  Alatna-Kobuk  portage.  Every  land  has  its  glories, 
and  the  sky  is  everywhere  a  blank  canvas  for  the  display 
of  splendid  colour,  but  the  tints  of  the  arctic  sky  are  of 
an  infinite  purity  of  individual  tone  that  no  other  sky 
can  show. 

As  we  descended  the  hill  into  the  Tozitna  basin  the 
wind  rose  again,  now  charged  with  heavy,  driving  snow, 
while  in  the  valley  the  underfoot  snow  grew  deep,  so  that 
it  was  drawing  to  dusk  when  we  reached  the  cabin  on  a 
fork  of  the  Tozitna  where  Bob  the  mail-man  had  spent 
the  previous  night,  and  there  we  stayed. 

The  next  day  is  worthy  of  record  for  the  sharp  con- 
trast it  affords.  All  the  night  it  had  snowed  heavily,  and 
it  snowed  all  the  morning  and  into  the  afternoon.  Some 
sixteen  or  seventeen  inches  of  snow  had  fallen  since  Bob 
and  his  party  passed,  and  again  we  had  no  trail  at  all. 
Moreover — strange  plaint  in  January  in  Alaska! — the 
weather  grew  so  warm  that  the  snow  continually  balled 
up  under  the  snow-shoes  and  clung  to  the  sled  and  the 
dogs.  At  noon  the  thermometer  stood  at  17°  above  zero — 
and  it  was  but  four  days  ago  that  we  recorded  70°  below! 
It  will  be  readily  understood  how  such  wide  and  sudden 
ranges  of  temperature  add  to  the  inconvenience  and  dis- 
comfort of  mushing.  Parkees,  sweaters,  shirts  are  shed 
one  after  the  other,  the  fur  cap  becomes  a  nuisance,  the 
mittens  a  burden,  and  still  ploughing  through  the  snow 
he  is  bathed  in  sweat  who  had  forgotten  what  sweating 


THE  MAIL-CARRIER  213 

felt  like.  The  poor  dogs  suffer  the  most,  for  they  have 
nothing  they  can  shed  and  they  can  perspire  only  through 
the  mouth.  Their  tongues  drop  water  almost  in  a  stream, 
they  labour  for  their  breath,  and  their  eyes  have  a  look 
that  comes  only  with  soft  weather  and  a  heavy  trail.  So 
constantly  do  they  grab  mouthfuls  of  snow  that  the  oper- 
ation becomes  quite  a  check  on  our  progress. 

By  two  o'clock  it  was  growing  dusk,  and  we  had  but 
reached  the  bank  of  the  other  fork  of  the  Tozitna,  not 
more  than  eight  or  nine  miles  from  the  cabin  where  we 
spent  the  night  and  yet  thirteen  or  fourteen  miles  from 
the  cabin  we  had  hoped  to  reach.  Beyond  the  banks 
of  the  stream  was  no  more  timber  for  a  long  distance; 
was  such  another  stretch  of  open  country  as  we  had 
passed  the  previous  day.  So  here  was  another  disap- 
pointment, for  camp  must  be  made  now  lest  there  be 
no  chance  to  make  camp  at  all.  But  it  was  a  good  and 
comfortable  camp,  amidst  the  large  spruce  of  the  water- 
course. Such  disappointments  are  part  of  life  on  the 
trail;  and  supper  done  there  was  the  more  time  for  the 
boys. 

The  open  country  was  again  wind-swept,  and  being 
wind-swept  the  snow  was  somewhat  hardened,  and  we 
fought  our  way  against  a  gale,  covering  the  twelve  and 
three  quarter  miles  in  ten  hours,  Sunday  though  it  was. 
At  that  last  stage  on  the  road  to  Tanana  came  out  a 
young  man  from  the  mission  with  a  dog  team  and  an 
Indian,  anxious  at  our  long  delay,  and  Harry  Strang- 
man's  name  is  written  here  with  grateful  recognition  of 
this  kindness  and  many  others.     We  went  joyfully  into 


214    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

town  on  the  morrow,  the  17th  of  January,  having  taken 
fifteen  days  to  make  a  journey  that  is  normally  made  in 
five. 

Half-way  on  that  last  day's  mush  we  met  the  mail- 
man returning  to  the  Koyukuk.  So  much  had  he  been 
delayed  that  there  was  danger  of  a  fine  and  all  sorts  of 
trouble,  and  the  mail  had  been  sent  out  to  meet  him  at 
the  noon  cabin,  together  with  a  supply  of  grub  for  the 
return  trip.  But  the  caterer,  whoever  he  was,  forgot 
candles,  and  the  mail-man  would  have  had  to  make  his 
way  back  to  the  Koyukuk  without  any  means  of  arti- 
ficial light,  in  the  shortest  days  of  the  year,  had  we  not 
been  able  to  supply  him  with  half  a  dozen  candles  that 
remained  to  us.  It  was  a  disappointment  to  George, 
the  boy  I  had  brought  from  the  mission,  that  he  must 
turn  round  and  go  back  also.  He  had  never  "seen 
Tanana,"  which  is  quite  a  metropolis  to  him,  and  had 
looked  forward  to  it  keenly  all  the  journey,  but  the  boy 
braced  up  and  took  his  disappointment  manfully.  A 
pitiful  procession  it  was  that  passed  us  by  and  took  our 
boy  away;  the  poor,  wearied  dogs  that  had  certainly 
earned  the  few  days'  rest  they  were  so  badly  in  need  of 
left  a  trail  of  blood  behind  them  that  was  sickening  to 
see.  Almost  every  one  of  them  had  sore,  frozen  feet; 
many  of  them  were  lame;  and  when  we  came  to  descend 
the  long  hill  they  had  just  climbed,  right  at  its  brow, 
where  the  stiffest  pull  had  been,  was  a  claw  from  a  dog's 
foot  frozen  into  bloody  snow. 

So  far  as  there  is  anything  heroic  about  the  Alaskan 
trail,  the  mail-carriers  are  the  real  heroes.    They  must 


SINGLE  MEN  IN  BARRACKS  215 

start  out  in  all  weathers,  at  all  temperatures;  they  have  a 
certain  specified  time  in  which  to  make  their  trips  and 
they  must  keep  within  that  time  or  there  is  trouble. 
The  bordering  country  of  the  Canadian  Yukon  has  a 
more  humane  government  than  ours.  There  neither 
mail-carrier  nor  any  one  else,  save  in  some  life-or-death 
emergency,  with  licence  from  the  Northwest  Mounted 
Police,  may  take  out  horse  or  dogs  to  start  a  journey 
when  the  temperature  is  lower  than  45°  below  zero;  but 
I  have  seen  a  reluctant  mail-carrier  chased  out  at  60° 
below  zero,  on  pain  of  losing  his  job,  on  the  American 
side.  Moreover,  between  the  seasons,  when  travel  on 
the  rivers  is  positively  dangerous  to  life,  the  mail  must 
still  be  despatched  and  received,  although  so  great  is  the 
known  risk  to  the  mail,  as  well  as  to  the  carrier,  that  no 
one  will  send  any  letter  that  he  cares  at  all  about  reaching 
its  destination  until  the  trails  are  established  or  the 
steamboats  run.  But  the  virtually  empty  pouches  must 
be  transported  from  office  to  office  through  the  running, 
or  over  the  rotting  ice,  just  the  same,  on  pain  of  the  high 
displeasure  and  penalty  of  a  department  without  brains 
and  without  bowels.  I  have  often  wished  since  I  came 
to  Alaska  that  I  could  be  postmaster-general  for  one 
week,  and  so  I  suppose  has  almost  every  other  resident 
of  the  country. 

The  week  following  my  arrival  at  Tanana  was  a  solid 
week  of  cold  weather,  the  thermometer  ranging  around 
50°  and  60°  below  zero,  and  that  means  keeping  pretty 
close  to  the  house.  Even  the  sentries  at  the  army  post 
are  withdrawn  and  the  protection  of  the  garrison  is  con- 


2i6    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

fided  to  a  man  who  watches  the  grounds  from  a  glass- 
walled  cupola  above  the  headquarters  building.  Yet  a 
week  of  confinement  and  inaction  grows  tiresome  after 
life  in  the  open. 

Sunday  is  always  a  busy  day  here.  The  mission  and 
native  village  are  three  miles  away  from  the  town,  and 
service  must  be  held  at  both.  The  mission  at  Tanana  is 
not  a  happy  place  to  visit  for  one  who  has  the  welfare  of 
the  natives  at  heart.  Despite  faithful  and  devoted  effort 
to  check  it,  the  demoralisation  goes  on  apace  and  the  out- 
look is  dark. 

"Single  men  in  barracks  don't  grow  into  plaster 
saints,"  we  are  told;  sometimes  they  seem  to  grow  into 
drunken,  lustful  devils  without  compassion  for  childhood, 
not  to  mention  any  feeling  of  magnanimity  towards  a 
feebler  race.  And  when  a  girl  who  has  been  rough- 
handled,  or  who  has  been  given  drink  until  she  is  unable 
to  resist  the  multiple  outrage  practised  upon  her,  is  told 
to  pick  out  the  malefactors  from  a  company  of  soldiers, 
all  clean-shaven,  all  dressed  alike,  all  around  the  same  age, 
she  generally  fails  to  identify  altogether.  So  the  offence 
goes  unwhipped,  and  the  officer  is  likely  as  not  to  address 
a  reprimand  to  the  complaining  missionary  for  "pre- 
ferring charges  you  are  unable  to  substantiate."  Yet 
an  officer  who  had  himself  written  such  a  letter  told  me 
once  that  all  Indians  looked  alike  to  him.  Even  should 
the  girl  identify  one  or  more  men,  they  have  usually  half  a 
dozen  comrades  ready  to  swear  an  alibi. 

Add  to  the  trouble  given  by  the  soldiers  the  constant 
operation  of  the  slinking  bootleggers  of  the  town,  a  score 


DEATH-RATE  AND   BIRTH-RATE  217 

or  more  of  whom  are  known  to  make  money  by  this 
liquor  peddling,  and  some  of  whom  do  nothing  else  for  a 
living,  yet  whom  it  is  next  to  impossible  to  convict,  owing 
to  the  cumbrous  machinery  of  the  law  and  the  attitude 
of  juries,  and  it  will  be  seen  that  the  hands  of  those  who 
are  fighting  for  the  native  race  are  tied. 

What  has  been  said  about  the  military  does  not  by 
any  means  apply  to  all,  either  officers  or  men.  Some  of 
the  officers  have  been  decent.  God-fearing  men,  conscious 
of  the  evil  and  zealous  to  suppress  it;  some  of  the  men, 
indeed  in  all  probability  most  of  the  men,  quite  free  from 
such  offence;  some  commanding  officers  have  kept  such 
a  well-disciplined  post  that  offences  of  all  kinds  have  been 
greatly  reduced.  But  the  commanding  officer  is  changed 
every  year,  and  the  whole  force  is  changed  every  two 
years,  so  that  there  is  no  continuity  of  policy  at  the  post, 
and  an  administration  that  has  grown  familiar  with  con- 
ditions and  that  stands  so  far  as  it  can  for  clean  living 
and  sobriety  and  decency  and  the  protection  of  the  na- 
tive people,  may  be  followed  by  one  that  is  loftily  igno- 
rant of  the  situation,  careless  about  offences  against 
morality,  and  impatient  of  any  complaint. 

Off  by  himself,  separate  from  the  demoralising  influ- 
ence of  the  low-down  white,  there  is  every  hope  and  en- 
couragement in  the  effort  to  elevate  and  educate  the 
Indian;  set  down  cheek  by  jowl  with  the  riffraff  of  towns 
and  barracks,  his  fate  seems  sealed. 

Let  these  two  mission  stations,  the  Allakaket  and 
Tanana,  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  or  so  apart  by  the 
winter  trail,  represent  the  two  conditions.     In  six  years' 


2i8    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

time  there  has  been  manifest  advance  at  the  one  and 
decay  at  the  other.  The  birth-rate  is  greatly  in  excess 
of  the  death-rate  at  the  Allakaket,  the  death-rate  greatly 
in  excess  of  the  birth-rate  at  Tanana.  In  the  year  in 
which  this  journey  was  made  there  were  thirty-four  deaths 
and  fourteen  births  at  Tanana,  and  while  the  difference 
was  an  unusually  large  one,  yet  in  the  six  years  referred 
to  there  has  not  been  one  year  in  which  the  number  of 
births  exceeded  the  number  of  deaths.  One  does  not 
have  to  be  a  prophet  to  foresee  the  inevitable  result,  if 
the  process  be  not  stopped. 

A  tribute  should  be  paid  to  the  zeal,  now  of  one,  now 
of  another  army  surgeon  at  Fort  Gibbon  in  tending  the 
native  sick,  three  miles  away,  when  we  have  been  un- 
able to  procure  a  physician  of  our  own  for  the  place. 
The  missionary  nurse,  for  five  years  last  past  Miss  Flor- 
ence Langdon,  has  been  greatly  helped  in  her  almost 
desperate  efforts  here  by  the  willing  co-operation  of  these 
medical  officers  of  the  army. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

UP  THE  YUKON  TO   RAMPART  AND   ACROSS  COUNTRY  TO 

THE    TANANA— ALASKAN   AGRICULTURE— THE   GOOD 

DOG   NANOOK— MISS   FARTHING'S   BOYS   AT 

NENANA— CHENA  AND  FAIRBANKS 

Our  course  from  Tanana  did  not  He  directly  up  the 
Tanana  River,  but  up  the  Yukon  to  Rampart  and  then 
across  country  to  the  Hot  Springs  on  the  Tanana  River. 
The  seventy-five  miles  up  the  Yukon  was  through  the 
Lower  Ramparts,  one  of  the  most  picturesque  portions  of 
this  great  river.  The  stream  is  confined  in  one  deep 
channel  by  lofty  mountains  on  both  banks,  and  the 
scenery  at  times  is  very  bold  and  wild.  But  its  topog- 
raphy makes  it  the  natural  wind  course  of  the  country — 
a  down-river  wind  in  winter,  an  up-river  wind  in  summer 
blows  almost  continually.  It  was  no  colder  than  5° 
below  zero  when  we  started  on  the  trip,  but  the  wind  made 
the  travelling  unpleasant.  The  second  day  it  had  in- 
creased to  a  gale,  and  every  mile  we  travelled  it  grew 
stronger.  We  travelled  three  hours,  and  the  last  hour 
we  made  scarcely  a  mile.  So  thickly  charged  with  fly- 
ing snow  was  the  wind  and  so  dead  ahead  that  despite 
parkee  hoods  it  blinded  us,  and  the  dogs  could  hardly  be 
forced  to  keep  their  heads  towards  it.     Their  faces  were 

so  coated  with  crusted  snow  that  they  looked  curiously 

219 


2  20    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

like  the  face  of  harlequin  in  the  pantomime.  It  did  be- 
come literally  intolerable,  and  when  Arthur  said  that  he 
knew  there  was  a  cabin  right  across  the  river,  we  made 
our  way  thither  and  shortly  found  it  and  lay  there  the 
rest  of  the  day,  the  gale  blowing  incessantly.  This  was 
disappointing,  because  it  meant  that  I  could  not  reach 
Rampart  for  the  Sunday  I  had  appointed. 

Next  day  the  wind  had  ceased  and  the  thermometer 
went  down  to  30°  below  zero.  In  places  the  ice  was 
blown  clear  of  snow;  in  other  places  it  was  heavily  drifted. 
By  midday  we  had  reached  the  lonely  telegraph  station 
at  "The  Rapids,"  and  were  very  kindly  received  by  the 
signal-corps  men  in  charge.  They  gave  us  to  eat  and 
to  drink  and  would  take  no  money.  There  is  little  travel 
on  this  part  of  the  river  nowadays,  and  the  telegraph 
men  are  glad  to  see  any  one  who  may  chance  to  pass  by. 
We  pushed  on  heavily  again,  and  had  to  stop  and  cut  a 
gee  pole  presently,  for  it  was  hard  to  handle  the  sled 
without  it ;  but  the  gee  pole  always  means  laborious  travel. 
The  cold  was  welcome;  it  meant  no  wind;  and  we  were 
glad  to  see  the  thermometer  drop  lower  than  50°  below 
zero  that  night  at  the  old  mail  cabin.  The  mail  goes  no 
longer  on  the  Yukon  River  from  Fort  Yukon  to  Tanana, 
and,  barring  this  point.  Rampart,  towards  which  we  were 
travelling,  which  is  supplied  across  country  from  the  Hot 
Springs,  over  the  route  we  should  traverse,  no  spot  on 
that  three  hundred  and  fifty  miles  of  river  receives  any 
mail  at  all.  The  population  is  small  and  scattered,  it  is 
true;  on  the  same  grounds  Alaska  might  be  denied  any 
mail  at  all.     There  has  been  much  resentment  at  this 


THE  WIND-SWEPT  YUKON  221 

abandonment  of  the  Yukon  River  by  the  post-office  and 
several  petitions  for  its  restoration,  but  it  has  not  been 
restored. 

We  travelled  all  the  next  day  at  50°  below  zero,  and 
it  was  one  of  the  pleasantest  days  of  the  winter.  There 
was  not  a  breath  of  wind,  the  going  steadily  improved, 
and,  best  of  all,  for  three  hours  we  were  travelling  in  the 
sunshine  for  the  first  time  this  winter.  Only  those  who 
have  been  deprived  of  the  sun  can  really  understand  how 
joyful  and  grateful  his  return  is.  There  was  no  heat  in 
his  rays,  this  last  day  of  January;  the  thermometer 
stood  at  49°  below  at  noon,  and  had  risen  but  5°  since 
our  start  in  the  morning;  but  the  mere  sight  of  him 
glowing  in  the  south,  where  a  great  bend  of  the  river 
gave  him  to  us  through  a  gap  in  the  mountains,  was 
cheerful  and  invigorating  after  two  months  in  which 
we  had  seen  no  more  than  his  gilding  of  the  high  snows. 
The  sun  gives  life  to  the  dead  landscape,  colour  to 
the  oppressive  monotony  of  white  and  black,  and  man's 
heart  leaps  to  the  change  as  jubilantly  as  does  the  face 
of  nature. 

Rampart  City  differs  from  Circle  City,  the  other  de- 
cayed mining  town  of  the  Yukon  River,  only  in  that  the 
process  is  further  advanced.  Year  by  year  there  are  a 
few  less  men  on  the  creeks  behind  it,  a  few  less  residents 
in  the  town  itself.  Its  long,  straggling  water-front  con- 
sists in  the  main  of  empty  buildings,  the  windows  boarded 
up,  the  snow  drifted  high  about  the  doors.  One  store 
now  serves  all  ends  of  trade,  one  liquor  shop  serves  all 
the  desire  for  drink  of  the  whites,  and  slops  over  through 


222    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

the  agency  of  two  or  three  dissolute  squaw  men  and  half- 
breeds  to  the  natives  up  and  down  the  river.* 

Rampart  had  one  fat  year,  1898,  when  many  hundreds 
of  gold  seekers,  approaching  the  Klondike  by  Saint  Michael 
and  the  lower  Yukon  were  attracted  and  halted  by  the 
gold  discoveries  on  Big  and  Little  Minook,  and  spent 
the  winter  here.  The  next  spring  news  was  brought  of 
the  rich  discoveries  on  Anvil  Creek,  behind  Cape  Nome, 
and  an  exodus  began  which  grew  into  a  veritable  stam- 
pede in  190O;  when  the  gold  discoveries  in  the  beach  itself 
were  made.  Rampart's  large  population  faded  away  as 
surely  and  as  quickly  to  Nome  as  Circle  City's  population 
did  to  the  Klondike.  The  Indians  are  almost  all  gone 
from  their  village  a  mile  above  the  town;  they  dwindled 
away  with  the  dwindling  prosperity,  some  to  Tanana, 
some  to  other  points  down  the  river;  and  what  used  to 
be  the  worst  small  native  community  in  the  interior  of 
Alaska  has  almost  ceased  to  exist.     Most  of  the  little 

*  In  December,  1912,  a  determined  effort  was  made  by  the  better  element 
of  the  little  handful  of  white  people  in  this  town  to  secure  the  withdrawal 
of  the  licence  of  this  saloon.  The  justice  of  the  peace,  the  government  school- 
teacher, the  postmaster,  and  others  went  up  to  Fairbanks  (a  week's  journey 
over  the  trail)  and  opposed  the  granting  of  the  licence  in  court.  It  was  shown 
that  the  white  men  of  the  locality  were  so  reduced  in  numbers  that  the  busi- 
ness could  not  be  carried  on  at  a  profit  unless  liquor  was  sold,  directly  or 
indirectly,  to  the  Indians.  But  because  by  hook  and  by  crook  the  names  of 
a  majority  of  one  or  two  of  all  the  white  residents  of  the  precinct  were  secured 
for  a  petition  in  favour  of  the  licence  (two  or  three  were  secured  by  telegraph 
at  the  last  moment)  the  judge  held  that  he  had  no  option  under  the  law  but 
to  grant  the  licence.  So,  on  the  one  hand,  it  is  a  felony  to  sell  liquor  to 
Indians,  and  annually  thousands  of  dollars  are  expended  in  trying  to  sup- 
press such  sale,  while,  on  the  other  hand,  a  man  is  licenced  to  sell  liquor  when 
it  is  shown  that  he  cannot  make  a  living  unless  he  sells  to  Indians;  that  is  to 
say  he  is  virtually  granted  a  licence  to  sell  to  Indians.  This  note  is  not 
intended  to  reflect  upon  the  judge  who  granted  the  licence,  although  all  his 
predecessors  have  not  put  that  construction  upon  the  law,  but  upon  a  law 
open  to  that  construction. 


RAMPART  AND  ITS   SALOON  223 

band  of  white  folks  still  remaining  were  gathered  together 
at  night,  and  appreciated,  I  thought,  their  semiannual 
opportunity  for  Divine  service. 

There  is  no  resisting  the  melancholy  that  hangs  over 
a  place  like  this.  As  one  treads  the  crazy,  treacherous 
board  sidewalks,  full  of  holes  and  rotten  planks,  now 
rising  a  step  or  two,  now  falling,  and  reads  the  dimmed 
and  dirty  signs  that  once  flaunted  their  gold  and  colours, 
"Golden  North,"  "Pioneer,"  "Reception,"  "The  Sen- 
ate" (why  should  every  town  in  Alaska  have  a  "Senate" 
saloon  and  not  one  a  "House  of  Representatives"?),  one 
conjures  up  the  scenes  of  rude  revelry  these  drinking 
places  witnessed  a  few  years  ago.  How  high  the  hopes 
of  sudden  riches  burned  in  the  breasts  of  the  men  who 
went  in  and  out  of  them,  doomed  to  utter  disappoint- 
ment In  the  vast  majority!  What  a  rapscallion  crew, 
male  and  female,  followed  this  great  mob  of  gold  seekers, 
and  grew  richer  as  their  victims  grew  poorer!  What 
earned  and  borrowed  and  saved  and  begged  and  stolen 
moneys  were  frittered  away  and  flung  away  that  winter; 
what  health  and  character  were  undermined!  How  the 
ribaldry  and  valiant,  stupid  blasphemy  rang  out  In  these 
tumbling-down  shanties!  Go  out  on  the  creeks  and  see 
the  hills  denuded  of  their  timber,  the  stream-beds  punched 
with  Innumerable  holes,  filled  up  or  filling  up,  the  cabins 
and  sluice-boxes  rotting  into  the  moss,  here  and  there  a 
broken  pick  and  shovel,  here  and  there  a  rusting  boiler, 
and  take  notice  that  this  region  has  been  "developed." 

When  the  debit  and  credit  sides  of  the  ledger  are  bal- 
anced, what  remains  to  Alaska  of  all  these  thousands  of 


224    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

men,  of  all  the  many  hundreds  of  thousands  of  dollars 
they  brought  with  them?  Those  creeks,  stripped,  gut- 
ted, and  deserted;  this  town,  waiting  for  a  kindly  fire 
with  a  favouring  breeze  to  wipe  out  its  useless  emptiness; 
a  few  half-breed  children  at  mission  schools;  a  hardy 
native  tribe,  sophisticated,  diseased,  demoralised,  and 
largely  dead — that  seems  the  net  result. 

The  portage  trail  from  Rampart  to  the  Tanana  River 
goes  up  Minook  Creek  and  follows  the  valley  to  its  head, 
then  crosses  a  summit  and  passes  down  through  several 
small  mining  settlements  to  the  Hot  Springs.  The  trail 
saves  traversing  two  sides  of  the  triangle  which  it  makes 
with  the  two  rivers. 

The  dogs'  feet  and  legs  had  suffered  so  much  from  the 
deep  snow  and  the  heavy  labour  of  the  journey  out  of 
the  Koyukuk  and  the  rough  ice  of  the  Yukon  that  I 
was  compelled  to  have  not  merely  moccasins  but  moose- 
hide  leggings  made  here,  coming  right  up  to  the  belly  and 
tying  over  the  back.  All  the  hair  was  worn  away  from 
the  back  of  the  legs  and  the  skin  was  in  many  places  raw. 

We  had  thought  to  cover  the  twenty-five  or  thirty 
miles  up  the  valley  and  over  the  summit  to  a  road-house 
just  beyond  its  foot,  but  rough  drifted  trails  and  a  high 
wind  held  us  back  until  it  was  dark  before  the  ascent 
was  reached,  and  we  pitched  our  tent  and  reserved  the 
climb  for  the  morrow. 

It  was  a  hard  grind  owing  to  the  drifted  snow  and  the 
wind  that  still  disputed  our  passage,  but  the  view  from 
the  summit,  nearly  eighteen  hundred  feet  above  last 
night's  camp,  was  compensation  enough,  for  it  gave  us 


"DEVELOPED"  225 

the  great  mountain,  Denali,  or,  as  the  map  makers  and 
some  white  men  call  it.  Mount  McKinley.  Perhaps  an 
hundred  and  fifty  miles  away,  as  the  crow  flies,  it  rose 
up  and  filled  all  the  angle  of  vision  to  the  southwest.  It 
is  not  a  peak,  it  is  a  region,  a  great  soaring  of  the  earth's 
crust,  rising  twenty  thousand  feet  high;  so  enormous  in 
its  mass,  in  its  snow-fields  and  glaciers,  its  buttresses,  its 
flanking  spurs,  its  far-flung  terraces  of  foot-hills  and  ap- 
proaches, that  it  completely  dominates  the  view  whenever 
it  is  seen  at  all.  I  have  heard  people  say  they  thought 
they  had  seen  Denali,  as  I  have  heard  travellers  say  they 
thought  they  had  seen  Mount  Everest  from  Darjiling; 
but  no  one  ever  thought  he  saw  Denali  if  he  saw  it  at  all. 
There  is  no  possible  question  about  it,  once  the  mountain 
has  risen  before  the  eyes ;  and  although  Mount  Everest  is 
but  the  highest  of  a  number  of  great  peaks,  while  Denali 
stands  alone  in  unapproached  predominance,  yet  I  think 
the  man  who  has  really  looked  upon  the  loftiest  moun- 
tain in  the  world  could  have  no  doubt  about  it  ever  after. 
How  my  heart  burns  within  me  whenever  I  get  view 
of  this  great  monarch  of  the  North!  There  it  stood, 
revealed  from  base  to  summit  in  all  its  stupendous  size, 
all  its  glistening  majesty.  I  would  far  rather  climb 
that  mountain  than  own  the  richest  gold-mine  in  Alaska. 
Yet  how  its  apparent  nearness  mocks  one;  what  time 
and  cost  and  labour  are  involved  even  in  approaching  its 
base  with  food  and  equipment  for  an  attempt  to  reach 
its  summit!  How  many  schemes  I  have  pondered  and 
dreamed  these  seven  years  past  for  climbing  it!  Some 
day  time  and  opportunity  and  resource  may  serve,  please 


226    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

God,  and  I  may  have  that  one  of  my  heart's  desires;  if 
not,  still  it  is  good  to  have  seen  it  from  many  different 
coigns  of  vantage,  from  this  side  and  from  that ;  to  have 
felt  the  awe  of  its  vast  swelling  bulk,  the  superb  dignity 
of  its  firm-seated,  broad-based  uplift  to  the  skies  with  a 
whole  continent  for  a  pedestal;  to  have  gazed  eagerly 
and  longingly  at  its  serene,  untrodden  summit,  far  above 
the  eagle's  flight,  above  even  the  most  daring  airman's 
venture,  and  to  have  desired  and  hoped  to  reach  it;  to 
desire  and  hope  to  reach  it  still.* 

Plunging  down  the  steep  descent  we  went  for  four 
miles,  and  then  after  a  hearty  dinner  at  the  road-house, 
essayed  to  make  twenty-one  miles  more  to  the  Hot 
Springs.  But  night  fell  again  with  a  number  of  miles 
yet  to  come,  the  recent  storm  had  furrowed  the  trail 
diagonally  with  hard  windrows  of  snow  that  overturned 
the  sled  repeatedly  and  formed  an  hindrance  that  grew 
greater  and  greater,  and  again  we  made  camp  in  the  dark, 
short  of  our  expected  goal. 

Of  late  I  had  been  carrying  an  hip  ring,  a  rubber  ring 
inflated  by  the  breath  that  is  the  best  substitute  for  a 
mattress.  The  ring  had  been  left  behind  at  Rampart, 
and  so  dependent  does  one  grow  on  the  little  luxuries  and 
ameliorations  one  permits  oneself  that  these  two  nights 
in  camp  were  almost  sleepless  for  lack  of  it. 

Three  hours  more  brought  us  to  the  spacious  hotel, 
with  its  forty  empty  rooms,  that  had  been  put  up,  out  of 
all  sense  or  keeping,  in  a  wild,  plunging  attempt  to  "ex- 

*  This  was  written  some  two  years  before  the  opportunity  came.  On 
the  yth  of  June,  1913,  the  writer  and  three  companions  reached  the  summit 
of  Denali.     ("The  Ascent  of  DenaH,"  Charles  Scribner's  Sons,  1914.) 


THE  HOT  SPRINGS  227 

ploit"  the  Hot  Springs  and  make  a  great  "health  resort" 
of  the  place.  The  hot  water  had  been  piped  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  or  so  to  spacious  swimming-baths  in  the  hotel;  all 
sorts  of  expense  had  been  lavished  on  the  place;  but  it 
had  been  a  failure  from  the  first,  and  has  since  been  closed 
and  has  fallen  into  dilapidation.  The  bottoms  have 
dropped  out  of  the  cement  baths,  the  paper  hangs  droop- 
ing from  the  damp  walls,  the  unsubstantial  foundations 
have  yielded  until  the  floors  are  heaved  like  the  waves 
of  the  sea.*  But  at  this  time  the  hotel  was  still  main- 
tained and  we  stayed  there,  and  its  wide  entrance-hall 
and  lobby  formed  an  excellent  place  to  gather  the  inhab- 
itants of  the  little  town  for  Divine  service — again  the 
only  opportunity  in  the  year. 

What  a  curious  phenomenon  thermal  springs  consti- 
tute in  these  parts!  Here  is  a  series  of  patches  of  ground, 
free  from  snow,  while  all  the  country  has  been  covered 
two  or  three  feet  deep  these  four  months;  green  with 
vegetation,  while  all  living  things  elsewhere  are  wrapped 
in  winter  sleep.  Here  is  open,  rushing  water,  throwing 
up  clouds  of  steam  that  settles  upon  everything  as  dense 
hoar  frost,  while  all  other  water  is  held  in  the  adamantine 
fetters  of  the  ice.  Where  does  that  constant  unfailing 
stream  of  water  at  110°  Fahrenheit  come  from?  Where 
does  it  get  its  heat  ?  I  know  of  half  a  dozen  such  thermal 
springs  in  Alaska, — one  far  away  above  the  Arctic  Circle 
between  the  upper  courses  of  the  Kobuk  and  the  Noatak 
Rivers,  that  I  have  heard  strange  tales  about  from  the 
Esquimaux  and  that  I  have  always  wanted  to  visit. 

*  In  1913  it  was  finally  destroyed  by  fire. 


228    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

Whenever  I  see  this  gush  of  hot  water  in  the  very  midst 
of  the  ice  and  the  snow,  I  am  reminded  of  my  surprise  on 
the  top  of  Mount  Tacoma.  We  had  cHmbed  some  eight 
thousand  feet  of  snow  and  were  shivering  in  a  bitter  wind 
on  the  summit,  yet  when  the  hand  was  thrust  in  a  cleft 
of  the  rock  it  had  to  be  withdrawn  by  reason  of  the  heat. 
One  knows  about  the  internal  fire  of  some  portion  of  the 
earth's  mass,  of  course,  but  such  striking  manifestations 
of  it,  such  bold  irruption  of  heat  in  the  midst  of  the 
kingdom  of  the  cold,  must  always  bring  a  certain  astonish- 
ment except  to  those  who  take  everything  as  a  matter 
of  course. 

It  is  evident  that  this  hot  water,  capable  of  distribu- 
tion over  a  considerable  area  of  land,  makes  an  exceed- 
ingly favourable  condition  for  subarctic  agriculture,  and 
a  great  deal  of  ground  has  been  put  under  cultivation  with 
large  yield  of  potatoes  and  cabbage  and  other  vegetables. 
But  the  limitations  of  Alaskan  conditions  have  shorn  all 
profit  from  the  enterprise.  There  is  no  considerable  mar- 
ket nearer  than  Fairbanks,  almost  two  hundred  miles 
away  by  the  river.  If  the  potatoes  are  allowed  to  remain 
in  the  ground  until  they  are  mature,  there  is  the  greatest 
danger  of  the  whole  crop  freezing  while  on  the  way  to 
market,  and  in  any  case  the  truck-farmers  around  Fair- 
banks find  that  their  proximity  to  the  consumer  more 
than  offsets  the  advantage  of  the  Hot  Springs. 

When  the  great  initial  difficulties  of  farming  in  Alaska 
are  overcome,  when  the  moss  is  removed  and  the  ground, 
frozen  solidly  to  bedrock,  is  broken  and  thawed,  when  its 
natural  acidity  is  counteracted  by  the  application  of  some 


ARCTIC  AGRICULTURE  229 

alkali,  and  its  reeking  surface  moisture  is  drained  away; 
when  after  three  or  four  years'  cultivation  it  begins  to 
make  some  adequate  return  of  roots  and  greens,  there 
remains  the  constant  difficulty  of  a  market.  Around 
the  mining  settlements  and  during  the  uncertain  life  of 
the  mining  settlements,  truck-farming  pays  very  well, 
but  it  could  easily  be  overdone  so  that  prices  would  fall 
below  the  point  of  any  profit  at  all.  Transportation  is 
expensive,  and  rates  for  a  short  haul  on  the  rivers  are 
high,  out  of  all  proportion  to  rates  for  the  long  haul 
from  the  outside,  so  that  potatoes  from  the  Pacific  coast 
are  brought  in  and  sold  in  competition  with  the  native- 
grown.  And  despite  the  protestations  of  the  agricul- 
tural experimental  stations,  the  outside  or  "chechaco" 
potato  has  the  advantage  of  far  better  quality  than  that 
grown  in  Alaska.  Tastes  diff^er,  and  a  man  may  speak 
only  as  he  finds.  For  my  part,  I  have  eaten  native 
potatoes  raised  in  almost  every  section  of  interior  Alaska, 
and  have  been  glad  to  get  them,  but  I  have  never  eaten 
a  native  potato  that  compared  favourably  with  any  good 
"outside"  potato.  The  native  potato  is  commonly  wet 
and  waxy;  I  have  never  seen  a  native  potato  that  would 
burst  into  a  glistening  mass  of  white  flour,  or  that  had 
the  flavour  of  a  really  good  potato. 

There  has  been  much  misconception  about  the  in- 
terior of  Alaska  that  obtains  yet  in  some  quarters,  al- 
though there  is  no  excuse  for  it  now.  Not  only  the 
interior  of  Alaska,  but  aU  land  at  or  near  sea-level  in 
the  arctic  regions  that  is  not  under  glacial  ice-caps,  is 
snow  free  and  surface-thawed  in  the  summer  and  has  a 


230    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

luxuriant  vegetation.  The  polar  ox  (Sverdrup's  protest 
against  the  term  *' musk-ox"  should  surely  prevail)  ranges 
in  great  bands  north  of  the  8oth  parallel  and  must  se- 
cure abundant  food;  and  when  Peary  determined  the 
insularity  of  Greenland  he  found  its  most  northerly  point 
a  mass  of  verdure  and  flowers. 

No  doubt  potatoes  and  turnips,  lettuce  and  cabbage, 
could  be  raised  anywhere  in  those  regions;  the  intensity 
of  the  season  compensates  for  its  shortness;  the  sun  is  in 
the  heavens  twenty-four  hours  in  the  day,  and  all  living 
things  sprout  and  grow  with  amazing  rankness  and 
celerity  under  the  strong  compulsion  of  his  continuous 
rays.  Spring  comes  literally  with  a  shout  and  a  rush  here 
in  Alaska,  and  must  cry  even  louder  and  stride  even 
faster  in  the  "ultimate  climes  of  the  pole."  If  the  pos- 
sibility of  raising  garden-truck  and  tubers  constitutes  a 
"farming  country,"  then  all  the  arctic  regions  not  actu- 
ally under  glacial  ice  may  be  so  classed. 

Any  one  who  visits  the  Koyukuk  may  see  monster 
turnips  and  cabbages  raised  at  Coldfoot,  near  the  68th 
parallel;  from  Sir  William  Parry's  description  we  may 
feel  quite  sure  that  vegetables  of  size  and  excellence 
might  be  raised  at  the  head  of  Bushnan's  Cove  of  Melville 
Island,  on  the  75th  parallel;  and  if  gold  were  ever  dis- 
covered on  the  north  coast  of  Greenland  one  might  quite 
expect  to  hear  that  some  enterprising  Swede  was  growing 
turnips  and  cabbages  at  Cape  Morris  Jessup  above  the 
83d  parallel,  and  getting  a  dollar  a  pound  for  them. 

In  favourable  seasons  and  in  favourable  spots  of  inte- 
rior Alaska  certain  early  varieties  of  Siberian  oats  and  rye 


NANOOK'S   DEATH  231 

have  been  matured,  and  it  stands  to  the  credit  of  the 
Experiment  Station  at  Rampart  that  a  httle  wheat  was 
once  ripened  there,  though  it  took  thirteen  months  from 
the  sowing  to  the  ripening.  When  the  rest  of  the  world 
fills  up  so  that  economic  pressure  demands  the  utilisa- 
tion of  all  earth  that  will  produce  any  sort  of  food,  it 
may  be  that  large  tracts  in  Alaska  will  be  put  under  the 
plough;  but  it  is  hard  to  believe  that  nine  tenths  of  all 
this  vast  country  will  ever  be  other  than  wild  waste  land. 
At  present  the  farming  population  is  strictly  an  appen- 
dage of  the  mining  population,  and  the  mining  population 
rather  diminishes  than  increases. 

Your  health  resort  that  no  one  will  resort  to  is  a  dull 
place  at  best  and  a  poor  dependence  for  merchandising, 
so  that  the  little  town  of  Hot  Springs  is  fortunate  in 
having  some  mining  country  around  it  to  fall  back  upon 
for  its  trade.  We  lay  an  extra  day  there,  waiting  for 
the  stage  from  Fairbanks  to  break  trail  for  us  through 
the  heavy,  drifted  snow,  having  had  enough  of  trail  break- 
ing for  a  while.  At  midnight  the  stage  came,  two  days 
late,  and  its  coming  caused  me  as  keen  a  sorrow  and  as 
great  a  loss  as  I  have  had  since  I  came  to  Alaska. 

We  knew  naught  of  it  until  the  next  morning,  when, 
breakfast  done  and  the  sled  lashed,  we  were  ready  to 
hitch  the  dogs  and  depart.  They  had  been  put  in  the 
horse  stable  for  there  was  no  dog  house;  the  health 
resorter,  actual  or  prospective,  is  not  likely  to  be  a  dog 
man  one  supposes;  but  they  were  loose  in  the  morning 
and  came  to  the  call,  all  but  one — Nanook.  Him  we 
sought  high  and  low,  and  at  last  Arthur  found  him,  but 


232    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

in  what  pitiful  case!  He  dragged  himself  slowly  and 
painfully  along,  his  poor  bowels  hanging  down  in  the 
outer  hide  of  his  belly,  fearfully  injured  internally,  done 
for  and  killed  already.  It  was  not  difficult  to  account  for 
it.  When  the  horses  came  in  at  midnight,  one  of  them 
had  kicked  the  dog  and  ruptured  his  whole  abdomen. 

There  was  no  use  in  inquiring  whose  fault  it  was. 
The  dogs  should  have  been  chained;  so  much  was  our 
fault.  But  it  was  hard  to  resist  some  bitter  recollection 
that  before  this  "exploitation"  of  the  springs,  when  there 
was  a  modest  road-house  instead  of  a  mammoth  hotel, 
there  had  been  kennels  for  dogs  instead  of  nothing  but 
stables  for  horses. 

I  doubt  if  all  the  veterinary  surgeons  in  the  world 
could  have  saved  the  dog,  but  there  was  none  to  try; 
and  there  was  only  one  thing  to  do,  hate  it  as  we  might. 
Arthur  and  I  were  grateful  that  neither  of  us  had  to  do 
it,  for  the  driver  of  the  mail  stage,  who  had  some  com- 
punctions of  conscience,  I  think,  volunteered  to  save  us 
the  painful  duty.  "I  know  how  you  feel,"  he  said  slowly 
and  kindly;  "I've  got  a  dog  I  think  a  heap  of  myself, 
but  that  dog  ain't  nothin'  to  me  an  I'll  do  it  for  you." 

Nanook  knew  perfectly  well  that  it  was  all  over 
with  him.  Head  and  tail  down,  the  picture  of  resigned 
dejection,  he  stood  like  a  petrified  dog.  And  when  I 
put  my  face  down  to  his  and  said  "Good-bye,"  he  licked 
me  for  the  first  time  in  his  life.  In  the  six  years  I  had 
owned  him  and  driven  him  I  had  never  felt  his  tongue 
before,  though  I  had  always  loved  him  best  of  the  bunch. 
He  was  not  the  licking  kind. 


THE  TALKING  DOG  233 

We  hitched  up  our  diminished  team  and  pulled  out, 
for  we  had  thirty  miles  to  make  in  the  short  daylight  and 
we  had  lost  time  already;  and  as  we  crossed  the  bridge 
over  the  steaming  slough  we  saw  the  man  going  slowly 
down  to  the  river  with  the  dog,  the  chain  in  one  hand,  a 
gun  in  the  other.  My  eyes  filled  with  tears;  I  could  not 
look  at  Arthur  nor  he  at  me  as  I  passed  forward  to  run 
ahead  of  the  team,  and  I  was  glad  when  I  realised  that 
we  had  drawn  out  of  ear-shot. 

All  day  as  I  trudged  or  trotted  now  on  snow-shoes  and 
now  off,  as  the  trail  varied  in  badness,  that  dog  was  in 
my  mind  and  his  loss  upon  my  heart,  the  feel  of  his  tongue 
upon  my  cheek.  It  takes  the  close  companionship  be- 
tween a  man  and  his  dogs  in  this  country,  travelling  all 
the  winter  long,  winter  after  winter,  through  the  bitter 
cold  and  the  storm  and  darkness,  through  the  long,  pleas- 
ant days  of  the  warm  sunshine  of  approaching  spring, 
sharing  labour  and  sharing  ease,  sharing  privation  and 
sharing  plenty;  it  takes  this  close  companionship  to  make 
a  man  appreciate  a  dog.  As  I  reckoned  it  up,  Nanook 
had  fallen  just  short  of  pulling  my  sled  ten  thousand  miles. 
If  he  had  finished  this  season  with  me  he  would  have 
done  fully  that,  and  I  had  intended  to  pension  him  after 
this  winter,  to  provide  that  so  long  as  he  lived  he  should 
have  his  fish  and  rice  every  day.  Some  doubt  I  had 
had  of  old  Lingo  lasting  through  the  winter,  but  none  of 
Nanook,  and  they  were  the  only  survivors  of  my  original 
team. 

Nanook  was  in  as  good  spirits  as  ever  I  knew  him  that 
last  night,  coming  to  me  and  plumping  his  huge  fore  paws 


234    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

down  on  my  moccasins,  challenging  me  to  play  the  game 
of  toe  treading  that  he  loved;  and  whenever  he  beat 
me  at  it  he  would  seize  my  ankle  in  his  jaws  and  make 
me  hop  around  on  one  foot,  to  his  great  delight.  He 
was  my  talking  dog.  He  had  more  different  tones  in  his 
bark  than  any  other  dog  I  ever  knew.  He  never  came 
to  the  collar  in  the  morning,  he  never  was  released  from 
it  at  night,  without  a  cheery  "bow-wow- wow."  And 
we  never  stopped  finally  to  make  camp  but  he  lifted  up 
his  voice.  There  was  something  curious  about  that. 
Only  two  nights  before,  when  we  had  been  unable  to 
reach  the  health  resort  owing  to  wind-hardened  drifts 
right  across  the  trail  that  overturned  the  heavy  sled  again 
and  again,  swing  the  gee  pole  as  one  would,  and  had 
stopped  several  times  in  the  growing  dusk  to  inspect  a 
spot  that  seemed  to  promise  a  camping  place,  Arthur 
had  remarked  that  Nanook  never  spoke  until  the  spot 
was  reached  on  which  we  decided  to  pitch  the  tent. 
What  faculty  he  had  of  recognising  a  good  place,  of  seeing 
that  both  green  spruce  and  dry  spruce  were  there  in 
sufficient  quantity,  I  do  not  know — or  whether  he  got  his 
cue  from  the  tones  of  our  voice — but  he  never  failed  to 
give  tongue  when  the  stop  was  final  and  never  opened 
his  mouth  when  it  was  but  tentative. 

I  could  almost  tell  the  nature  of  any  disturbance  that 
arose  from  the  tone  of  Nanook's  bark.  Was  it  some  stray 
Indian  dog  prowling  round  the  camp;  was  it  the  distant 
howling  of  wolves;  was  it  the  approach  of  some  belated 
traveller — there  was  a  distinct  difference  in  the  way  he 
announced  each.     I  well  remember  the  new  note  that 


CANINE  CHARACTER  235 

came  into  his  passionate  protest  when  he  was  chained 
to  a  stump  at  the  reindeer  camp,  and  the  fooHsh  creatures 
streamed  all  over  the  camping-ground  that  night.  To 
have  them  right  beside  him  and  yet  be  unable  to  reach 
them,  to  have  them  brushing  him  with  their  antlers  while 
he  strained  helplessly  at  the  chain,  was  adding  insult  to 
injury.  And  he  kept  me  awake  over  it  all  night  and  told 
me  about  it  at  intervals  all  next  day. 

The  coat  that  dog  had  was  the  heaviest  and  thickest 
I  ever  saw.  On  his  back  the  long  hair  parted  in  the  mid- 
dle, and  underneath  the  hair  was  fur  and  underneath  the 
fur  was  wool.  He  was  an  outdoors  dog  strictly.  It  was 
only  in  the  last  year  or  two  that  he  could  be  induced  vol- 
untarily to  enter  a  house;  he  seemed,  like  Mowgli,  to 
have  a  suspicion  of  houses.  And  if  he  did  come  in  he  had 
no  respect  for  the  house  at  all.  When  first  I  had  him  he 
would  dig  and  scratch  out  of  a  dog-house  on  the  coldest 
night,  if  he  could,  and  lay  himself  down  comfortably  on 
the  snow.  Cold  meant  little  to  him.  Fifty,  sixty,  sev- 
enty below  zero,  all  night  long  at  such  temperatures  he 
would  sleep  quite  contentedly.  The  only  difference  I 
could  see  that  these  low  temperatures  made  to  him  was 
an  increasing  dislike  to  be  disturbed.  When  he  had 
carefully  tucked  his  nose  between  his  paws  and  adjusted 
his  tail  over  all,  he  had  gone  to  bed,  and  to  make  him 
take  his  nose  out  of  its  nest  and  uncurl  himself  was  like 
throwing  the  clothes  off  a  sleeping  man.  He  never  dug 
a  hole  for  himself  in  the  snow.  I  never  saw  a  dog  do 
that  yet.  In  my  opinion  that  is  one  of  the  nature-faker's 
stories.     A  dog  lies  in  snow  just  as  he  lies  in  sand,  with  the 


236    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

same  preliminary  turn-round-three-times  that  has  been 
so  much  speculated  about.  We  always  make  a  bed  for 
them,  when  it  is  very  cold,  by  cutting  and  stripping  a  few 
spruce  boughs,  and  they  highly  appreciate  such  a  couch 
and  will  growl  and  fight  if  another  dog  try  to  take  it. 
They  need  more  food  and  particularly  they  need  more 
fat  when  they  lie  out  at  extreme  low  temperatures,  and 
we  seek  to  increase  that  element  in  their  rations  by  add- 
ing tallow  or  bacon  or  bear's-grease — or  seal  oil — or  what- 
ever oleaginous  substance  we  can  come  by. 

He  was  a  most  independent  dog  was  Nanook,  a  thor- 
oughly bad  dog,  as  one  would  say  in  some  use  of  that 
term — a  thief  who  had  no  shame  in  his  thievery  but 
rather  gloried  in  it.  If  you  left  anything  edible  within  his 
ingenious  and  comprehensive  reach  he  regarded  it  as  a 
challenge.  There  comes  to  me  a  ludicrous  incident  that 
concerned  a  companion  of  one  winter  journey.  He  had 
carefully  prepared  a  lunch  and  had  wrapped  it  neatly  in 
paper,  and  he  placed  it  for  a  moment  on  the  sled  while  he 
turned  to  put  his  scarf  about  him.  But  in  that  moment 
Nanook  saw  it  and  it  was  gone.  Through  the  snow,  over 
the  brush,  in  and  out  amongst  the  stumps  the  chase  pro- 
ceeded, until  Nanook  was  finally  caught  and  my  com- 
panion recovered  most  of  the  paper,  for  the  dog  had 
wolfed  the  grub  as  he  ran.  He  would  stand  and  take 
any  licking  you  offered  and  never  utter  a  sound  but  give 
a  bark  of  defiance  when  you  were  done,  and  he  would 
bear  you  no  ill  will  in  the  world  and  repeat  his  offence 
at  the  next  opportunity.  Yet  so  absurdly  sensitive  was 
he  in  other  matters  of  his  person  that  the  simple  operation 


CANINE  CHARACTER  237 

of  clipping  the  hair  from  between  his  toes,  to  prevent  the 
"balKng-up"  of  the  snow,  took  two  men  to  perform,  one 
to  sit  on  the  dog  and  the  other  to  ply  the  scissors,  and 
was  accompanied  always  with  such  howls  and  squeals  as 
would  make  a  hearer  think  we  were  flaying  him  alive. 

Nanook's  acquaintance  with  horses  began  in  Fair- 
banks the  first  season  I  owned  him,  before  I  had  had  the 
harness  upon  him,  when  he  was  rising  two  years  old. 
The  dogs  and  I  were  staying  at  the  hospital  we  had  just 
established — because  in  those  days  there  was  nowhere 
else  to  stay — waiting  for  the  winter.  One  of  the  mining 
magnates  of  the  infancy  of  the  camp  (broken  and  dead 
long  since;  Bret  Harte's  lines,  *' Busted  himself  in  White 
Pine  and  blew  out  his  brains  down  in  'Frisco,"  often 
occur  to  me  as  the  sordid  histories  of  to-day  repeat  those 
of  fifty  years  ago)  had  imported  a  saddle-horse  and,  as 
the  mild  days  of  that  charming  autumn  still  deferred  the 
snow,  he  used  to  ride  out  past  the  hospital  for  a  canter. 

The  dog  had  learned  to  lift  the  latch  of  the  gate  of  the 
hospital  yard  with  his  nose  and  get  out,  and  when  I  put  a 
wedge  above  the  latch  for  greater  security  he  learned  also 
to  circumvent  that  precaution.  And  whenever  the  horse 
and  his  rider  passed,  Nanook  would  open  the  gate  and 
lead  the  whole  pack  in  a  noisy  pursuit  that  changed  the 
canter  to  a  run  and  brought  us  natural  but  mortifying 
remonstrance. 

The  rider  had  just  passed  and  the  dogs  had  pursued 
as  usual,  and  I  had  rushed  out  and  recalled  them  with 
difficulty.  Nanook  I  had  by  the  collar.  Dragging  him 
into  the  yard,  shutting  the  gate,  and  putting  in  the  wedge. 


238    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

I  picked  up  a  stick  and  gave  him  a  few  sharp  blows  with 
it.  Then  flinging  him  off,  I  said:  "Now,  you  stay  in  here; 
I'll  give  you  a  sound  thrashing  if  you  do  that  again!"  I 
was  just  getting  acquainted  with  him  then.  The  moment 
I  loosed  his  collar  the  dog  went  deliberately  to  the  gate, 
stood  on  his  hind  legs  while  he  pulled  out  the  wedge  with 
his  teeth,  lifted  the  latch  with  his  nose  and  swung  open 
the  gate,  and  standing  in  the  midst  turned  round  and 
said  to  me:  " Bow-zvow-wow-wow-wow-wozv I "  It  was 
so  pointed  that  a  passer-by,  who  had  paused  to  see  the 
proceedings  and  was  leaning  on  the  fence,  said  to  me: 
"Well,  you  know  where  you  can  go  to.  That's  the  dog- 
gonedest  dog  I  ever  seen!" 

It  was  a  pleasure  to  come  back  to  Nanook  after  any 
long  absence — a  pleasure  I  was  used  to  look  forward  to. 
There  was  no  special  fawning  or  demonstration  of  affec- 
tion; he  was  not  that  kind;  that  I  might  have  from  any 
of  the  others;  but  from  none  but  Nanook  the  bark  of 
welcome  with  my  particular  inflection  in  it  that  no  one 
else  ever  got.  "Well,  well;  here's  the  boss  again;  glad  to 
see  you  back";  that  was  about  all  it  said.  For  he  was 
a  most  independent  dog  and  took  to  himself  an  air  of 
partnership  rather  than  subjection.  Any  man  can  make 
friends  with  any  dog  if  he  will,  there  is  no  question 
about  that,  but  it  takes  a  long  time  and  mutual  trust 
and  mutual  forbearance  and  mutual  appreciation  to 
make  a  partnership.  Not  every  dog  is  fit  to  be  partner 
with  a  man;  nor  every  man,  I  think,  fit  to  be  partner 
with  a  dog. 

Well,   that   long   partnership   was   dissolved   by  the 


PARTNERS  239 

horse's  hoof  and  I  was  sore  for  its  dissolution.  There  was 
none  left  now  that  could  remember  the  old  days  of  the 
team  save  Lingo,  and  he  grew  crusty  and  somewhat 
crabbed.  He  was  still  the  guardian  of  the  sled,  still  the 
insatiable  hand-shaker,  but  he  grew  more  and  more  un- 
social with  his  mates,  and  we  heard  his  short,  sharp,  angry 
double  bark  at  night  more  frequently  than  we  used  to.  He 
reminded  me  of  the  complaining  owl  in  Gray's  "Elegy." 
He  resented  any  dog  even  approaching  the  sled,  resented 
the  dogs  moving  about  at  all  to  disturb  his  "ancient  sol- 
itary reign." 

His  work  was  well-nigh  done,  and  old  Lingo  had  hon- 
estly earned  his  rest.  With  the  end  of  this  winter  he  would 
enter  upon  the  easy  old  age  that  I  had  designed  for  both 
of  them.  Lingo  had  never  failed  me;  never  let  his  traces 
slack  if  he  could  keep  them  taut,  never  in  his  life  had  whip 
laid  on  his  back  to  make  him  pull;  a  faithful  old  work 
dog  for  whom  I  had  a  hearty  respect  and  regard.  But 
he  never  found  his  way  to  my  heart  as  Nanook  did.  I 
loved  Nanook,  and  had  lost  something  personal  out  of  my 
life  in  losing  him.  There  are  other  dogs  that  I  am  fond 
of — better  dogs  in  some  ways  that  either  Nanook  or 
Lingo,  swifter  certainly — but  I  think  I  shall  never  have 
two  dogs  again  that  have  meant  as  much  to  me  as  these 
two.  All  the  other  dogs  were  of  the  last  two  years  and 
thought  they  belonged  to  Arthur,  who  fed  them  and 
handled  them  most.  But  Nanook  and  Lingo  had  seen 
boys  come  and  boys  go,  and  they  knew  better. 

Six  years  is  not  very  much  of  a  man's  life,  but  it  is 
all  a  dog's  life ;  all  his  effective  working  life.    Nanook  had 


240    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

given  it  all  to  me,  willingly,  gladly.  He  pulled  so  freely 
because  he  loved  to  pull.  He  delighted  in  the  winter,  in 
the  snow  and  the  cold;  rejoiced  to  be  on  the  trail,  re- 
joiced to  work.  When  we  made  ready  to  depart  after 
a  few  days  at  a  mission  or  in  a  town,  Nanook  was  beside 
himself  with  joy.  He  would  burst  forth  into  song  as  he 
saw  the  preparations  in  hand,  would  run  all  up  and  down 
the  gamut  of  his  singular  flexible  voice,  would  tell  as 
plainly  to  all  around  as  though  he  spoke  it  in  English  and 
Indian  and  Esquimau  that  the  inaction  had  irked  him, 
that  he  was  eager  to  be  gone  again. 

Well,  he  was  dead;  as  fine  a  dog  as  ever  lived;  as 
faithful  and  intelligent  a  creature  as  any  man  ever  had, 
not  of  human  race,  for  servant,  companion,  and  friend. 
And  I  thought  the  more  of  myself  that  he  had  put  his 
tongue  to  my  cheek  when  I  said  good-bye  to  him. 
******** 

Here  on  the  Tanana  was  one  of  the  most  interesting 
original  characters  of  the  many  in  the  land:  an  old  in- 
habitant of  Alaska  and  of  the  Northwest  who  had  fol- 
lowed many  avocations  and  was  now  settled  down  on  the 
river  bank,  with  a  steamboat  wood-yard,  a  road-house 
for  the  entertainment  of  occasional  travellers,  and  a  little 
stock  of  trade  goods  chiefly  for  Indians  of  the  vicinity. 
A  round,  fat,  pursy  man  he  was,  past  the  middle  life, 
with  a  twinkling  eye  and  a  bristling  moustache,  and  a 
most  amazing  knack  of  picking  up  new  words  and  using 
them  incorrectly.  He  had  fallen  out  with  the  great 
trading  company  of  Alaska  and  did  almost  all  his  pur- 
chasing  from   a   "mail-order   house"    in   Chicago,    the 


THE  AMATEUR  PHOTOGRAPHER     241 

enormous  quarto  catalogue  on  the  flimsiest  thin  paper 
issued  by  that  establishment  being  his  chief  book  of 
reference  and  his  choice  continual  reading.  He  would 
declaim  by  the  hour  on  the  iniquitous  prices  that  prevail 
in  the  interior  and  had  the  quotations  of  prices  of  every 
conceivable  merchandise  from  his  vade  mecum  at  his 
fingers'  ends. 

But  his  chief  passion  of  the  past  two  or  three  years 
was  photography,  in  the  which  he  had  made  but  little 
progress,  despite  considerable  expenditures;  and  he  had 
come  to  the  conclusion  about  the  time  of  our  visit  that 
what  he  needed  was  a  fine  lens,  although,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  he  had  never  learned  to  use  his  cheap  one.  He 
had  recently  become  acquainted  with  sensitive  film  and 
had  ordered  a  supply.  By  a  transposition  of  letters, 
which  the  nature  of  the  substance  doubtless  confirmed 
in  his  mind  when  it  arrived,  he  always  spoke  of  these 
convenient  strips  of  celluloid  as  "flims,"  and  was  just 
now  most  eloquently  indignant  that,  although  he  had 
broken  utterly  with  the  Northern  Commercial  Company 
and  refused  to  trade  with  them  at  all,  the  supply  of 
"Aims"  he  had  received  from  the  mail-order  house  were 
labelled  "N.  C."  "Them  blamed  monopolists  has 
cornered  the  Aims,"  he  exclaimed,  and  was  hardly  per- 
suaded that  the  letters  signified  "non-curling"  and  did 
not  darkly  hint  at  a  conspiracy  in  restraint  of  trade. 

He  produced  and  displayed  a  number  of  pieces  of  ap- 
paratus of  a  generally  useless  kind  which  he  had  ordered 
on  the  strength  of  their  much  advertising,  and  he  ob- 
served sententiously,  "We  armatures  get  badly  imposed 


242    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

upon."  Here  were  patent  gimcrack  printing  devices, 
although  he  had  scarce  anything  worth  printing;  all 
sorts  of  atrocious  fancy  borders  with  which  he  sought  in 
vain  to  embellish  out-of-focus  under-exposures;  ortho- 
chromatic  filters  and  colour  screens  with  which  he  was 
eliminating  undesirable  rays,  although  the  chief  thing 
his  negatives  lacked  was  light  of  any  kind.  His  soiled 
and  stained  development  trays  were  scattered  about  a 
large  table  amidst  dirty  cups  and  saucers  and  plates  and 
dishes,  while  at  the  other  end  of  the  table,  surmounting 
a  pile  of  thumbed  and  greasy  magazines  and  newspapers, 
lay  the  monstrous  mail-order  catalogue  with  pencilled 
indications  of  further  apparatus  to  be  purchased. 

But  his  zeal  and  enthusiasm  and  resolute  riding  of  his 
hobby  were  very  attractive.  If  he  ever  gets  out  of  his 
head  the  notion  that  success  depends  upon  apparatus  he 
will  doubtless  become  a  photographer  of  sorts.  En- 
thusiasm of  any  kind  other  than  mining  and  "mush- 
ing" enthusiasm  is  so  rare  in  this  land  that  it  is  wel- 
come even  when  it  seems  wasted.  He  had  recently 
discovered  the  wax  match  in  his  catalogue,  and  as  a 
parting  gift  he  presented  me  with  a  box  of  "them 
there  wax  vespers  which  beats  the  sulphur  match  all  to 
thunder." 

But  they  do  not.  Nothing  in  this  country  can  take 
the  place  of  the  old-fashioned  sulphur  match,  long  since 
banished  from  civilised  communities,  and  the  sulphur 
match  is  the  only  match  a  man  upon  the  trail  will  employ. 
Manufactured  from  blocks  of  wood  without  complete 
severance,  so  that  the  ends  of  the  matches  are  still  held 


THE  SULPHUR  MATCH  243 

together  at  the  bottom  in  one  solid  mass,  it  is  easy  to 
strip  one  off  at  need  and  strike  it  upon  the  block.  A 
block  of  a  hundred  such  matches  will  take  up  much  less 
space  than  fifty  of  any  other  kind  of  match,  and  the 
blocks  may  be  freely  carried  in  any  as  they  are  commonly 
carried  in  every  pocket  without  fear  of  accidental  igni- 
tion. The  only  fire  producer  that  it  is  worth  while  sup- 
plementing the  sulphur  match  with  is  the  even  older- 
fashioned  flint  and  steel,  which  to  a  man  who  smokes 
is  a  convenience  in  a  wind.  All  the  modern  alcohol  and 
gasoline  pocket  devices  are  extinguished  by  the  lightest 
puff  of  wind,  but  the  tinder,  once  ignited,  burns  the 
fiercer  for  the  blast.  With  dry,  shredded  birch-bark  I 
have  made  a  fire  upon  occasion  from  the  flint  and  steel. 
One  resource  may  here  be  mentioned,  since  we  are  on 
the  subject,  which  is  always  carried  in  the  hind-sack  of 
my  sled  against  difficulty  in  fire  making.  It  is  a  tin 
tobacco-box  filled  with  strips  of  cotton  cloth  cut  to  the 
size  of  the  box  and  the  whole  saturated  with  kerosene. 
One  or  two  of  these  strips  will  help  very  greatly  in  kin- 
dling a  fire  when  damp  twigs  or  shavings  are  all  that  are  at 
hand.  A  few  camphor  balls  (the  ordinary  "moth  balls") 
will  serve  equally  well;  and  there  may  come  a  time,  on 
any  long  journey,  when  the  forethought  that  has  pro- 
vided such  aid  will  be  looked  back  upon  with  very  great 
satisfaction. 

The  mail  trail  from  Tanana  to  Fairbanks  touches  the 
Tanana  River  only  at  one  point,  a  few  miles  beyond  the 
Hot  Springs;  but,  as  we  wished  to  visit  Nenana,  we  had  to 


244    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

leave  the  mail  trail  after  two  days  more  of  uneventful 
travel  and  strike  out  to  the  river  and  over  its  surface  for 
seventeen  or  eighteen  mi'es. 

Nenana  is  a  native  village  situated  on  the  left  bank  of 
the  Tanana,  a  little  above  the  confluence  of  the  Nenana 
River  with  that  stream,  and  we  have  established  an 
important  and  flourishing  school  there  which  receives  its 
forty  pupils  from  many  points  on  the  Yukon  and  Tanana 
Rivers.  None  but  thoroughly  sound  and  healthy  chil- 
dren of  promise,  full  natives  or  half-breeds,  are  received 
at  the  school,  and  we  seek  to  give  both  boys  and  girls 
opportunity  for  the  cultivation  of  the  native  arts  and 
for  some  of  the  white  man's  industrial  training,  in  addi- 
tion to  the  ordinary  work  of  the  schoolroom.  The  school 
was  started  and  had  the  good  fortune  of  its  first  four 
years'  life  under  the  care  of  a  notable  gentlewoman, 
Miss  Annie  Cragg  Farthing,  who  was  yet  at  its  head  at 
the  time  of  this  visit,  but  who  died  suddenly,  a  martyr 
to  her  devotion  to  the  children,  a  year  later;  and  a  great 
Celtic  cross  in  concrete,  standing  high  on  the  bluff  across 
the  river,  now  marks  the  spot  of  her  own  selection — a 
spot  that  gives  a  fine  view  of  Denali — where  her  body 
rests,  and  also  the  Alaskan  mission's  sense  of  the  extraor- 
dinary value  of  her  life. 

It  would  be  easy  to  give  striking  instances  of  the  po- 
tency and  stretch  of  this  remarkable  woman's  influence 
amongst  the  native  people,  an  influence — strange  as  it 
may  sound  to  those  who  deem  any  half-educated,  under- 
bred white  woman  competent  to  take  charge  of  an  Indian 
school — due  as  much  to  her  wide  culture,  her  perfect  dig- 


A  NOTABLE  GENTLEWOMAN  245 

nity  and  self-possession,  her  high  breeding,  as  to  the  love 
and  consecrated  enthusiasm  of  her  character.  It  is  no 
exaggeration  to  say  that  Miss  Farthing's  work  has  left 
a  mark  broad  and  deep  upon  the  Indian  race  of  this  whole 
region  that  will  never  be  wiped  out. 

There  is  no  greater  pleasure  than  to  spend  a  few  days 
at  this  school;  to  foregather  again  with  so  many  of  the 
hopeful  young  scamps  that  one  has  oneself  selected  here 
and  there  and  brought  to  the  place;  to  mark  the  improve- 
ment in  them,  the  taming  and  gentling,  the  drawing  out 
of  the  sweet  side  of  the  nature  that  is  commonly  buried 
to  the  casual  observer  in  the  rudeness  and  shyness  of  sav- 
age childhood.  To  romp  with  them,  to  tell  them  tales 
and  jingles,  to  get  insensibly  back  into  their  familiar  confi- 
dence again,  to  say  the  evening  prayers  with  them,  to 
join  with  their  clear,  fresh  voices  in  the  hymns  and  chants, 
is  indeed  to  rejuvenate  oneself.  And  to  go  away  be- 
lieving that  real  strength  of  character  is  developing,  that 
real  preparation  is  making  for  an  Indian  race  that  shall 
be  a  better  Indian  race  and  not  an  imitation  white  race, 
is  the  cure  for  the  discouragement  that  must  sometimes 
come  to  all  those  who  are  committed  heart  and  soul  to 
the  cause  of  the  Alaskan  native.  School-teachers,  it 
would  seem,  ought  never  to  grow  old;  they  should  suck 
in  new  youth  continually  from  the  young  life  around 
them;  and  children  are  far  and  away  the  most  interesting 
things  in  the  world,  more  interesting  even  than  dogs  and 
great  mountains. 

All  the  boys  in  the  school,  I  think,  swarmed  across  the 
river  with  us  when  we  started  away  early  in  the  morning, 


246    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

and  the  elder  ones  ran  with  the  sled  along  the  portage, 
mile  after  mile,  until  I  turned  them  back  lest  they  be  late 
for  school. 

But  when  they  were  gone,  still  I  saw  them,  saw  them 
gathered  round  the  grey-haired  lady  I  had  left,  fawning 
upon  her  with  their  eyes,  their  hearts  filled  with  as  true 
chivalry  as  ever  animated  knight  or  champion  of  the  olden 
time.  Tall,  upstanding  fellows  of  sixteen  or  seventeen, 
clean-limbed  and  broad-shouldered,  wild-run  all  their 
lives;  hunters,  with  a  tale  of  big  game  to  the  credit  of 
some  of  them  would  make  an  English  sportsman  envious; 
unaccustomed  to  any  restraint  at  all  and  prone  to  chafe 
at  the  slightest ;  unaccustomed  to  any  respect  for  women, 
to  any  of  the  courtesies  of  life,  I  saw  them  fly  at  a  word, 
at  a  look,  to  do  her  bidding,  saw  cap  snatched  from  head 
if  they  encountered  her  about  the  buildings,  saw  them 
jump  up  and  hold  open  the  door  if  she  moved  to  pass  out 
of  a  room,  saw  the  eager  devotion  that  would  have  served 
her  upon  bended  knee  had  they  thought  it  would  please 
her.  It  was  wonderful,  the  only  thing  of  quite  its  kind 
I  had  ever  seen  in  my  life. 

When  early  in  the  school's  history  an  old  medicine- 
man at  Nenana  had  been  roused  to  animosity  by  her 
refusal  to  countenance  an  offensive  Indian  custom  touch- 
ing the  adolescent  girls,  and  had  defiantly  announced  his 
intention  to  make  medicine  against  her,  I  can  see  her 
now,  her  staff  in  her  hand,  attended  by  two  or  three  of 
her  devoted  youths,  invading  the  midnight  pavilion  of 
the  conjurer,  in  the  very  midst  of  his  conjurations,  tossing 
his  paraphernalia  outside,  laying  her  staff  smartly  across 


CHIVALROUS   INDIAN  YOUTH  247 

the  shoulders  of  the  trembhng  shaman,  and  driving  the 
gaping  crew  heher-skelter  before  her,  their  awe  of  the 
witchcraft  overawed  by  her  commanding  presence.  I 
make  no  apology  that  I  thought  of  the  scourge  of  small 
cords  that  was  used  on  an  occasion  in  the  temple  at 
Jerusalem,  when  I  heard  of  it.  It  gave  a  shrewder  blow 
to  the  lingering  tyrannical  superstition  of  the  medicine- 
man than  decades  of  preaching  and  reasoning  would  have 
done.  No  man  living  could  have  done  the  thing  with 
like  effect,  nor  any  woman  save  one  of  her  complete  self- 
possession  and  natural  authority.  The  younger  villagers 
chuckle  over  the  jest  of  it  to  this  day,  and  the  old  witch- 
doctor himself  was  crouching  at  her  feet  and,  as  one  may 
say,  eating  out  of  her  hand,  within  the  year. 

I  saw  these  boys  again,  in  my  mind's  eye,  gone  back 
to  their  homes  here  and  there  on  the  Yukon  and  the 
Tanana  after  their  two  or  three  years  at  this  school, 
carrying  with  them  some  better  ideal  of  human  life  than 
they  could  ever  get  from  the  elders  of  the  tribe,  from  the 
little  sordid  village  trader,  from  most  of  the  whites  they 
would  be  thrown  with,  keeping  something  of  the  vision  of 
gentle  womanhood,  something  of  the  "  unbought  grace  of 
life,"  something  of  the  keen  sense  of  truth  and  honour, 
of  the  nobility  of  service,  something  deeper  and  stronger 
than  mere  words  of  the  love  of  God,  which  they  had 
learned  of  her  whom  they  all  revered ;  each  one,  however 
much  overflowed  again  by  the  surrounding  waters  of 
mere  animal  living,  tending  a  little  shrine  of  sweeter  and 
better  things  in  his  heart. 

Here,  three  years  after  the  visit  and  the  journey  nar- 


248    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

rated,  when  these  words  are  written  with  diaries  and  let- 
ters and  memoranda  around  me,  I  am  just  come  from 
a  long  native  powwow,  a  meeting  of  all  the  Indians  of  a 
village  for  the  annual  election  of  a  village  council,  impor- 
tant in  the  evolution  of  that  self-government  we  covet  for 
these  people,  but  undeniably  tedious.  And,  because  at 
our  missions  we  seek  to  associate  with  us  every  force  that 
looks  to  the  betterment  of  the  natives,  we  had  invited 
the  new  government  teacher,  a  lady  of  long  experience  in 
Indian  schools,  to  be  present.  She  had  sat  patiently 
through  the  protracted  meeting,  and  at  its  close,  when 
she  rose  to  go,  a  young  Indian  man  jumped  up  and  held 
her  fur  cloak  for  her  and  put  it  gently  about  her  shoul- 
ders. When  she  had  thanked  him  she  asked  with  a  smile: 
"Where  did  you  learn  to  be  so  polite.?"  A  gleam  came 
into  the  fellow's  eyes,  then  he  dropped  them  and  replied, 
*'Miss  Farthing  taught  me." 

Two  days  before,  returning  from  a  journey,  I  had 
spent  the  night  at  a  road-house  kept  by  a  white  man 
married  to  an  Indian  woman.  There  was  excellent  yeast 
bread  on  the  table,  and  good  bread  is  a  rare  thing  in 
Alaska.  "Where  did  you  learn  to  make  such  good 
bread?"  I  inquired  of  the  woman.  There  came  the 
same  light  to  her  eyes  and  the  same  answer  to  her  lips. 
Yet  it  was  nine  years  ago,  long  before  the  school  at 
Nenana  was  started,  that  this  Indian  boy  and  girl  had 
been  under  Miss  Farthing's  teaching  at  Circle  City. 

They  tell  us  there  is  no  longer  much  place  or  use  for 
gentility  in  the  world,  for  men  and  women  nurtured  and 
refined  above  the  common  level;  tell  us  in  particular 


I« 


LONG-REMEMBERED  TEACHING  249 

that  woman  is  only  now  emancipating  herself  from  cen- 
turies of  ineffectual  nonage,  only  now  entering  upon  her 
active  career. 

Yet  I  am  of  opinion,  from  such  opportunities  to  ob- 
serve and  compare  as  my  constant  travel  has  given  me, 
that  the  quiet  work  of  this  gracious  woman  of  the  old 
school,  with  her  dignity  that  nothing  ever  invaded  and 
her  poise  that  nothing  ever  disturbed,  is  perhaps  the 
most  powerful  single  influence  that  has  come  into  the 
lives  of  the  natives  of  interior  Alaska. 

Two  days  brought  us  past  the  little  native  village  and 
mission  at  Chena  (which  is  pronounced  Shen-aw),  past  the 
little  white  town  of  the  same  name,  to  Fairbanks,  the  chief 
town  of  interior  Alaska.  Chena  is  at  the  virtual  head  of 
the  navigation  of  the  Tanana  River  and  is  quite  as  near 
to  the  gold-producing  creeks  as  Fairbanks,  which  latter 
place  is  not  on  the  Tanana  River  at  all  but  on  a  slough, 
impracticable  for  almost  any  craft  at  low  water.  For 
every  topographical  reason,  from  every  consideration  of 
natural  advantage,  Chena  should  have  been  the  river 
port  and  town  of  these  gold-fields.  But  Chena  was  so 
sure  of  her  manifold  natural  advantages  that  she  became 
unduly  confident  and  grasping.  When  the  traders  at 
Fairbanks  offered  to  remove  to  Chena  at  the  beginning 
of  the  camp,  if  the  traders  at  Chena  would  provide  a  site, 
the  offer  was  scornfully  rejected.  "They  would  have  to 
come,  anyway,  or  go  out  of  business."  But  they  did  not 
come;  rather  they  put  their  backs  up  and  fought.  And 
because  Fairbanks  was  enterprising  and  far-sighted,  while 
Chena   was  avaricious  and  narrow,  because  Fairbanks 


250    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

offered  free  sites  and  Chena  charged  enormously  for 
water-front,  business  went  the  ten  miles  up  the  often 
unnavigable  slough  and  settled  there,  and  by  and  by  built 
a  little  railway  that  it  might  be  independent  of  the  uncer- 
tain boat  service.  The  company  came,  the  courts  came, 
the  hospital  came,  the  churches  came,  and  Chena  woke 
up  from  its  dreams  of  easy  wealth  to  find  itself  and  its 
manifold  natural  advantages  passed  by  and  ignored  and 
the  big  town  firmly  established  elsewhere. 

How  well  I  remember  the  virulent  little  newspaper 
published  at  Chena  in  those  days  and  the  bitterness  and 
vituperation  it  used  to  pour  out  week  by  week!  One 
wishes  a  file  of  it  had  been  preserved.  Alaskan  journalism 
has  presented  many  amusing  curiosities  that  no  one  has 
had  leisure  to  collect,  but  nothing  more  amusing  than 
the  frenzy  of  impotent  wrath  Chena  vented  when  it  saw 
its  cherished  prospects  and  opportunities  slipping  out  of 
its  grasp  for  ever. 

"If  of  all  words  on  tongue  or  pen, 
The  saddest  are  'it  might  have  been,' 
Full  sad  are  those  we  often  see, 
It  is,  but  it  hadn't  ought  to  be." 

It  takes  Bret  Harte  to  strike  the  note  for  such  rivalry 
and  such  disappointment. 


CHAPTER  IX 

TANANA   CROSSING    TO    FORTYMILE   AND    DOWN   THE 
YUKON— A  PATRIARCHAL  CHIEF— SWARMING  CAR- 
IBOU—EAGLE AND  FORT  EGBERT— CIRCLE 
CITY  AND  FORT  YUKON 

Fairbanks  was  a  different  place  in  1910  from  the 
centre  of  feverish  trade  and  feverish  vice  of  1904-5,  when 
the  stores  were  open  all  day  and  half  the  night  and  the 
dance-halls  and  gambling  dens  all  night  and  half  the  day; 
when  the  Jews  cornered  all  the  salt  and  all  the  sugar  in 
the  camp  and  the  gamblers  all  the  silver  and  currency; 
when  the  curious  notion  prevailed  that  in  some  mysteri- 
ous way  general  profligacy  was  good  for  business,  and  the 
Commercial  Club  held  an  indignation  meeting  upon  a 
threat  of  closing  down  the  public  gaming  and  refusing 
liquor  licences  to  the  dance-halls,  and  voted  unanimously 
in  favour  of  an  "open  town";  when  a  diamond  star  was 
presented  to  the  "chief  of  police"  by  the  enforced  con- 
tributions of  the  prostitutes;  when  the  weekly  gold-dust 
from  the  clean-ups  on  the  creeks  came  picturesquely  into 
town  escorted  by  horsemen  armed  to  the  teeth.  The  out- 
ward and  visible  signs  of  the  Wild  West  are  gone;  the 
dance-halls  and  gambling  tables  are  a  thing  of  the  past ; 
the  creeks  are  all  connected  with  Fairbanks  by  railway 
and  telephone;   an  early  closing  movement  has  prevailed 

251 


252    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

in  the  shops;  and  the  local  choral  society  is  lamenting 
the  customary  dearth  of  tenors  for  its  production  of 
"The  Messiah." 

Despite  the  steady  decline  in  the  gold  output  of  late 
years,  a  drop  of  from  twenty  millions  down  to  four  or  five, 
there  is  little  visible  decay  in  its  trade,  and  despite 
stampedes  to  new  diggings  all  over  Alaska,  there  is  no 
marked  visible  diminution  in  its  population,  though  as  a 
matter  of  fact  both  must  have  largely  fallen  off.  The 
thing  that  more  than  any  other  has  sustained  the  spirits 
and  retained  the  presence  of  the  business  men  is  the 
expectation  that  seems  to  grow  brighter  and  brighter,  of 
the  development  of  a  quartz  camp  now  that  the  placers 
are  being  exhausted.  And  in  that  hope  lies  the  chance  of 
Fairbanks  to  become  the  one  permanent  considerable 
town  of  interior  Alaska.  It  is  a  substantial  place,  with 
good  business  houses  and  many  comfortable  homes  elec- 
tric-lit, steam-heated,  well  protected  against  fire — better 
than  against  flood — and,  though  it  does  not  display  the 
style  and  luxury  of  the  palmy  days  of  Nome,  it  has  amen- 
ities enough  to  make  disinterested  visitors  and  passers- 
by  wish  that  its  hard-rock  hopes  may  be  realised. 

The  little  log  church  that  is  still,  as  a  local  artist 
put  it,  ''the  only  thing  in  Fairbanks  worth  making  a 
picture  of,"  no  longer  stands  open  all  day  and  all  night 
as  the  town's  library  and  reading-room,  but  has  with- 
drawn into  decorous  Sabbath  use  in  favour  of  the  commo- 
dious public  library  built  by  a  Philadelphia  churchman; 
the  hospital  adjoining  it,  that  for  two  or  three  years  cared 
for  all  the  sick  of  the  camp,  is  supplemented  by  another 


FAIRBANKS  253 

and  a  larger  across  the  slough;  young  birch-trees  have  been 
successfully  planted  all  along  the  principal  streets,  and 
the  front  yards  everywhere  are  ablaze  with  flowers  the 
summer  through.  You  may  eat  hot-house  lettuce  and 
radishes  in  March;  hot-house  strawberries  (at  about  ten 
cents  apiece)  in  July  and  August;  while  common  outdoor 
garden-truck  of  all  kinds  is  plentiful  and  good  in  its  short 
season. 

We  had  another  canine  misfortune  while  we  lay  there. 
Doc,  one  of  our  leaders,  got  his  chain  twisted  around 
his  foot  the  night  before  we  were  to  leave,  and,  in  pulling 
to  free  it,  stopped  the  circulation  of  the  blood  and  the 
foot  froze.  It  was  as  hard  as  wood  and  sounded  like 
wood  when  it  hit  the  sidewalks,  from  which  the  snow  had 
been  cleared,  as  the  dog  came  limping  along.  An  hour's 
soaking  in  cold  water  drew  the  frost  out  of  the  foot,  and 
we  swathed  it  in  cotton  saturated  with  carron  oil,  upon 
which  it  swelled  so  greatly  that  it  was  impossible  to  tell 
the  extent  of  the  injury  or  to  determine  whether  or  not 
the  dog  would  ever  be  of  use  again.  A  kindly  nurse  at 
the  hospital  undertook  his  care,  and  we  left  him  behind. 
One  does  not  buy  a  dog  so  late  in  the  season,  with  all  the 
idle  summer  to  feed  him  through,  if  any  shift  can  be 
made  to  avoid  it,  and  there  was  a  Great  Dane  pup  at 
the  Salchaket,  forty  miles  away,  that  I  might  pick  up 
as  I  passed  and  perhaps  make  some  use  of  for  the  re- 
mainder of  the  winter. 

That  mission  was  the  next  stop  on  our  journey,  and 
we  reached  it  over  the  level  mail  trail,  the  chief  winter 
highway  of  Alaska,   connecting   Fairbanks  with  Valdez 


254    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

on  the  coast.  Three  times  a  week  there  is  a  horse  stage 
with  mail  and  passengers  passing  over  this  trail  each  way, 
together  with  much  other  travel.  The  Alaska  Road 
Commission  has  lavished  large  sums  of  money  upon  it, 
and  the  four  hundred  miles  or  thereabout  is  made  in  a 
week. 

A  day  and  a  half  brought  us  to  the  Salchaket,  one  of 
a  chain  of  missions  along  the  Tanana  River,  established  by 
the  energy  and  zeal  of  the  Reverend  Charles  Eugene  Bet- 
ticher,  Jr.,  during  his  incumbency  at  Fairbanks,  that  have 
already  brought  a  great  change  for  the  better  in  native 
conditions.  Five  years  had  elapsed  since  last  I  visited 
this  tribe,  a  reconnoitring  visit  on  one  of  the  first  steam- 
boats that  ever  went  up  the  Tanana  River  above  Fair- 
banks, and  it  was  a  delight  to  see  the  new,  clean  village 
with  the  little  gardens  round  the  cabins,  and  to  note  the 
appreciative  attitude  which  the  Indians  showed.  So 
highly  do  they  value  the  missionary  nurse  in  charge  that 
however  far  afield  their  hunting  may  lead  them,  one  of 
their  number  is  sent  back  every  week  to  see  that  the 
mission  does  not  lack  wood  and  water  and  meat;  a  sim- 
ple, docile,  kindly  people  that  one's  heart  warms  to. 

This  mission  was  our  last  outpost  to  the  south.  My 
farther  journey  had  for  its  prime  object  the  visiting  of 
the  natives  of  the  upper  Tanana  as  far  as  the  Tanana 
Crossing,  some  two  hundred  and  fifty  miles  beyond  the 
Salchaket,  the  inquiring  into  their  condition  and  into 
the  desirability  of  establishing  a  post  amongst  them. 

The  upper  Tanana  is  probably  one  of  the  most  difiicult 
streams  in  the  world  to  navigate  that  can  by  any  stretch 


THE  SALCHAKET  255 

of  the  term  be  called  navigable.  The  great  Alaskan 
range  begins  to  approach  the  Tanana  River  so  soon  as 
one  gets  above  Fairbanks.  Its  prominent  peaks,  ten 
thousand  to  twelve  thousand  feet  high,  are  continually 
in  view  from  one  angle  to  another  as  one  pursues  the 
river  trail,  and  come  constantly  nearer  and  nearer.  All 
the  streams  that  are  confluent  with  the  Tanana  on  its  left 
bank  are  glacial  streams  draining  the  high  ice  of  these 
mountains.  They  come  down  laden  thick  with  silt,  at 
times  foaming  torrents,  at  times  merely  trickling  water- 
courses that  seam  with  numerous  small  runnels  the  wide 
deltas  at  their  mouths.  The  tributaries  of  the  right 
bank  flow  for  the  most  part  through  heavily  wooded 
country,  and  come  out  cleanly  into  the  river.  So  the 
glacial  waters  form  shoals  and  bars,  and  the  woodland 
waters  during  freshets  pile  them  high  with  driftwood. 
Such  is  the  chief  characteristic  of  the  upper  Tanana;  a 
multiplicity  of  swift,  narrow  channels  amidst  bars  laden 
with  drift.  It  is  subject  to  sudden  rises  of  great  violence; 
the  attempt  to  stem  a  freshet  on  the  upper  Tanana  is  a 
hair-raising  experience  as  the  log  of  the  Pelican  would 
show,  but  does  not  come  within  this  narrative.  Owing 
to  the  origin  of  much  of  its  water,  the  Tanana  is  often  in 
flood  in  dry,  hot  seasons,  when  other  rivers  run  meagrely, 
as  well  as  in  times  of  rain.  It  cannot  be  stemmed  in 
flood;  its  shoals  deny  passage  in  drouth;  there  must  be 
just  the  right  stage  of  water  to  permit  its  navigation,  and 
that  stage,  "without  o'erflowing,  full,"  is  not  often  found 
of  duration  to  serve  the  voyage  after  the  month  of  June. 
A  river  difficult  to  navigate  in  summer  is  usually  a 


256    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

river  difficult  to  travel  upon  in  winter,  and  the  upper 
Tanana  is  notoriously  dangerous  and  treacherous.  Scarce 
a  winter  or  a  summer  that  it  does  not  claim  victims.  It 
is  emphatically  a  "bad  river."  Therefore,  as  far  as  there 
is  any  travel  to  speak  of,  land  trails  parallel  the  river. 
Past  Richardson  where  the  next  night  is  spent,  a  decayed 
mining  and  trading  town  that  dates  back  to  the  stampedes 
of  1905-6  when  it  was  thought  the  upper  Tanana  would 
prove  rich  in  gold,  past  Tenderfoot  Creek  on  which  the 
discoveries  were  made,  past  the  mouth  of  the  Big  Delta 
with  the  great  bluff  on  the  opposite  shore  and  the  rushing 
black  water  at  its  foot  that  never  entirely  closes  all  the 
winter,  and  on  the  other  hand  the  wide  barrens  of  the 
Big  Delta  itself  giving  the  whole  fine  sweep  of  the  Alaskan 
range,  we  came  at  length  to  McCarthy's,  the  last  tele- 
graph station  on  the  river, — for  the  line  strikes  across 
country  thence  to  Valdez  following  the  government  trail, 
— and  there  spent  another  night,  and  here  we  leave  the 
government-made  trail  and  take  to  the  river  surface  and 
the  wilderness. 

Twelve  miles  through  the  woods  along  the  left  bank 
of  the  river  brought  us  to  the  aptly  named  Clearwater 
Creek,  a  tributary  that  comes  only  from  the  foot-hills 
and  carries  no  glacial  water.  This  stream  by  reason  of 
hot  springs  runs  wide  open  all  the  winter  and  must  be 
crossed  by  a  ferry — a  raft  on  a  heavy  wire.  The  man 
who  owned  the  ferry  and  the  house  adjacent  was  gone 
from  home,  so  we  proceeded  to  cross  as  best  we  could. 
The  raft  was  so  small  that  first  we  took  the  dogs  across 
then  unloaded  the  sled  and  took  part  of  the  load,  and 


THE  UPPER  XANANA  257 

returned  for  the  remainder  and  the  sled  itself.  Finally 
a  canoe  was  loaded  on  the  raft  and,  when  it  had  been 
moored  on  the  side  we  found  it,  Arthur  paddled  himself 
back.  It  was  a  strange  scene,  rafting  and  paddling  a 
canoe  in  interior  Alaska  on  the  2d  of  March,  with  the 
thermometer  at  — 15°.  Some  eight  miles  farther  along 
the  portage  trail  we  came  to  a  little  cabin  about  dusk, 
but  disdaining  its  dirt  and  darkness  we  pitched  our  tent. 
Another  eighteen  miles  the  next  day  is  noted  in  my 
diary  for  pleasant  woodland  travel  and  for  the  particular 
interest  of  the  numerous  animal  tracks  we  passed.  Here 
a  moose  had  crossed  the  trail,  ploughing  through  the 
snow  like  a  great  cart-horse;  here  for  two  or  three  miles 
a  lynx  had  urgent  business  in  the  direction  of  the  Healy 
River.  A  lynx  will  always  follow  a  trail  if  there  be  one, 
and  will  pick  out  the  best  going  on  the  ice  or  snow  in  the 
absence  of  trail.  I  once  followed  a  lynx  track  from  the 
head  of  the  Dall  River  to  its  mouth,  and,  save  for  turning 
aside  occasionally  to  investigate  a  clump  of  willows  or 
brush,  the  lynx  was  an  excellent  guide.  Here  were  rab- 
bit tracks  and  every  now  and  then  the  little  sharp  tracks 
of  a  squirrel.  We  stopped  for  lunch  under  a  tall  cotton- 
wood-tree,  and  Arthur  pointed  out  that  the  trunk,  up  to 
a  high  crotch,  was  all  seamed  by  bear  claws.  He  said 
that  the  black  bear  climbed  the  same  tree  season  after 
season,  and  told  me  that,  according  to  the  Indians,  this 
was  chiefly  done  when  first  he  came  from  his  winter  den, — 
for  the  purpose  of  getting  his  bearings,  as  the  boy  sug- 
gested with  a  chuckle.  A  fox,  a  marten,  and  a  weasel 
had  all  passed  across  lately,  and  of  course  then  came  the 


25 8    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

exclamation  that  scarce  fails  from  native  lips  when  a  fox 
track  is  seen:  "I  wonder  if  it  were  a  black  fox!"  A  black 
fox  means  sudden  wealth  beyond  the  dreams  of  avarice 
to  an  Indian,  and  any  fox  track  may  be  the  track  of  a 
black  fox. 

The  end  of  that  portage  brought  us  out  on  the  Tanana 
River  opposite  the  little  trading-post  at  the  mouth  of 
the  Healy — the  last  post  of  any  kind  we  should  see. 

The  trader,  by  whom  we  were  hospitably  entertained, 
had  heard  of  our  projected  occupation  of  the  upper 
Tanana,  and  alert  to  his  own  interests,  was  anxious  to 
know  the  plans  for  the  establishment  of  a  mission — plans 
which  were  yet  all  to  make.  He  naturally  favoured  this 
spot,  which  it  was  already  plain  was  quite  out  of  the 
question,  but  professed  his  readiness  to  move  to  any 
place  that  we  might  decide  upon,  and  his  entire  sympathy 
and  co-operation. 

The  question  of  the  trader,  which  always  arises  upon 
the  establishment  of  a  new  mission  site,  is  an  important 
and  sometimes  a  vexatious  one,  for  he  wields  an  influence 
amongst  the  Indians  second  only  to  that  of  the  mission 
itself,  and  may  be  either  a  great  help  or  a  great  hindrance. 
There  is  a  natural  desire  to  secure  a  man  of  character 
for  the  new  post,  and  at  the  same  time  a  natural  reluctance 
to  disturb  vested  interests  and  arouse  bitter  enmity  by 
diverting  trade.  The  suggestion  has  often  been  made 
that  the  mission  should  itself  undertake  a  store  in  the 
interest  of  the  natives,  but  those  with  most  experience 
in  such  matters  will  agree  that  it  is  the  wisdom  of  the 
bishop  that  sets  his  face  against  mission  trading.     The 


w    B 


INDIAN  TRADERS  259 

two  offices  are  so  essentially  dissimilar  as  to  be  almost  in- 
compatible with  one  another;  either  the  person  in  charge 
is  a  missionary  first  and  a  trader  afterwards,  in  which  case 
the  store  suffers,  or  he  is  a  trader  first  and  a  missionary 
afterwards,  in  which  case  he  is  not  a  missionary  at  all. 
A  clean,  sober,  and  honest  trader,  content  to  take  his 
time  about  getting  rich,  is  a  blessing  to  an  Indian  com- 
munity. There  are  some  such,  one  thinks,  but  they  are 
not  numerous.  The  profits  are  large,  though  the  turnover 
is  but  one  a  year;  the  capital  required  is  small;  it  is  a  life 
with  much  leisure;  but  in  the  main  it  attracts  only  a 
certain  class  of  men. 

A  band  of  Indians  to  whom  word  of  our  visit  had  been 
sent  had  come  down  the  river  this  far  to  meet  us  and 
escort  us,  but  dog  food  was  scarce  and  our  arrival  was 
delayed,  and  they  had  been  compelled  to  return  to  their 
hunting  camp  whither  we  must  follow  them.  We  were 
now  farther  up  the  Tanana  River  than  either  of  us  had 
ever  been  before;  the  country  had  the  fascination  of  a 
new  country;  every  bend  of  the  river  held  unknown 
possibilities,  and  the  keenness  and  elation  that  only  the 
penetration  of  a  new  country  brings  were  upon  the  boy 
as  well  as  upon  myself. 

The  river  and  the  mountains  were  already  drawn  much 
closer  together,  and  as  we  pursued  our  journey  upon  the 
one  we  had  continual  fine  views  of  the  other.  The  going 
was  good — too  good — for  much  of  it  was  new  ice  and 
spoke  of  recent  overflow,  and  all  too  soon  we  came  upon 
the  water.  At  the  mouth  of  the  Johnson  River,  one  of 
the  glacial  streams,  the  whole  river  was  overflowed,  and 


26o    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

we  waded  for  a  mile  through  water  that  deepened  con- 
tinually until  there  was  risk  of  wetting  our  load.  Then 
we  were  compelled  to  take  to  the  woods  and  to  cut  a 
portage  around  the  worst  and  deepest  of  it,  and  so  passed 
beyond  it  to  good  ice  and  to  an  empty  cabin  where  we 
spent  the  night,  glad  to  be  sheltered  from  an  exceedingly 
bitter  wind  that  had  blown  all  day  and  had  taken  all  the 
pleasure  out  of  travel. 

It  is  in  such  weather  particularly  that  the  thermos 
flasks  prove  such  a  boon  to  the  musher.  To  stop  and 
build  a  fire  in  the  wind  means  to  get  chilled  through. 
There  is  no  pleasure  in  it  at  all,  and  I  would  rather  push 
on  until  the  day's  journey  is  done.  But  the  native  boy 
must  have  his  lunch,  and  will  build  a  fire  in  any  sort  of 
weather  and  make  a  pot  of  tea.  The  thermos  bottle, 
with  its  boiling-hot  cocoa,  gives  one  the  stimulation  and 
nourishment  that  are  desired  without  stopping  for  more 
than  a  few  moments.  I  have  carried  a  pair  of  these  bot- 
tles all  day  at  60°  below  zero,  and,  when  opened,  snow 
had  to  be  put  into  the  cocoa  before  it  was  cool  enough  to 
drink.  Of  course  it  is  perfectly  simple — all  the  astonish- 
ing things  are — but  I  never  open  one  of  those  bottles  in 
the  cold  weather  and  pour  out  its  contents  without  mar- 
velling at  it. 

We  left  the  river  and  struck  inland  towards  the  foot- 
hills of  the  Alaskan  range,  a  long,  rough  journey  over  a 
trail  that  had  been  made  by  the  band  that  came  out  to 
the  Healy  to  meet  us,  and  had  been  travelled  no  more 
than  by  their  coming  and  going.  The  snow  in  this  region 
had  been  as   much  lighter  than  usual  as  the  snow  in 


THE  THERMOS   BOTTLES  261 

the  Koyukuk  had  been  heavier.  Through  the  tangle  of 
prostrate  trunks  of  a  burned-over  forest  and  the  dense 
underbrush  that  follows  such  a  fire,  with  not  enough 
snow  to  give  smooth  passage  over  the  obstacles,  we  made 
our  toilsome  way,  the  labour  of  the  dogs  calling  for  the 
continual  supplement  of  the  men,  one  at  the  gee  pole 
and  one  at  the  handle-bars.  Some  twenty  miles,  perhaps, 
a  long  day's  continuous  journey,  we  pushed  laboriously 
into  the  hills  and  then  pitched  our  tent ;  but  in  a  few  miles, 
next  morning,  we  had  struck  the  main  Indian  trail  from 
the  village  near  the  Tanana  Crossing,  by  which  the  hunt- 
ing party  had  come,  and  what  little  was  left  of  the  jour- 
ney went  easily  enough  until  we  reached  the  considerable 
native  encampment. 

The  men  were  all  gone  after  moose  save  one  half- 
naked,  blear-eyed  old  paralytic,  a  dreadful  creature  who 
shambled  and  hobbled  up  asking  for  tobacco.  The  women 
were  expecting  us,  however,  and  took  the  encamping  out 
of  our  hands  entirely,  setting  up  the  tent,  hauling  stove 
wood  and  splitting  it  up,  making  our  couch  of  spruce 
boughs,  starting  a  fire,  and  bringing  a  plentiful  present 
of  moose  and  caribou  meat  for  ourselves  and  our  dogs. 
Nothing  could  have  been  kinder  than  our  reception;  the 
full  hospitality  of  the  wilderness  was  heaped  upon  us. 
It  was  not  until  dark  that  the  men  returned,  and  we  had 
all  the  afternoon  to  get  acquainted  with  the  women  and 
children.  Already  the  chief  difficulty  we  had  to  encounter 
presented  itself.  These  people  did  not  speak  the  lan- 
guage of  the  lower  Tanana  and  middle  Yukon — Arthur's 
language — at  all.     Their  speech  had  much  more  affinity 


262    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

with  the  upper  Yukon  language,  and  it  dawned  upon  me 
that  they  were  not  of  the  migration  that  had  pushed  up 
the  Tanana  River  from  the  Yukon,  as  all  the  natives  as 
far  as  the  Salchaket  certainly  did,  were  not  of  that  tribe  or 
that  movement  at  all,  but  had  come  across  country  by 
the  Ketchumstock  from  the  neighbourhood  of  Eagle — the 
route  we  should  return  to  the  Yukon  by — and  were  of  the 
Porcupine  and  Peel  River  stock.  This  was  certainly  a 
surprise;  I  had  deemed  all  the  Tanana  River  Indians  of 
the  same  extraction  and  tongue,  but  the  stretch  of  bad 
water  from  the  Salchaket  to  the  Tanana  Crossing  was 
evidently  the  boundary  between  two  peoples. 

That  night  we  met  Chief  Isaac  and  the  principal  men 
of  his  tribe.  At  first  it  seemed  that  such  broken  English 
as  three  or  four  of  them  had  would  be  our  only  medium 
of  intercourse,  but  later  one  was  discovered  who  had 
visited  the  lower  Tanana  and  the  Yukon  and  who  under- 
stood Arthur  indifferently  well,  and  by  the  double  inter- 
pretation, halting  and  inefficient,  but  growing  somewhat 
better  as  we  proceeded,  it  was  possible  to  enter  into 
communication.  These  preliminaries  arranged,  the  chief 
made  a  set  speech  of  dignity  and  force.  He  thanked  me 
for  coming  to  them,  and  regretted  he  had  not  been  able 
to  wait  longer  at  the  Healy  River  to  help  us  to  his  camp. 
When  he  was  a  boy  he  had  been  across  to  the  Yukon  and 
had  seen  Bishop  Bompas,  and  had  been  taught  and  bap- 
tized by  him,  but  he  was  an  old  man  now  and  he  had  for- 
gotten what  he  had  learned.  I  was  the  first  minister  most 
of  his  people  had  ever  seen.  They  heard  that  Indians 
in  other  places  had  mission  and  school,  and  they  had  felt 


An  Alaskan  chief  axu  his  henchman. 


CHIEF  ISAAC  263 

sorry  a  long  time  that  no  one  came  to  teach  them;  for 
they  were  very  ignorant,  Uttle  children  who  knew  nothing, 
and  when  they  heard  a  rumour  that  a  mission  and  school 
would  be  brought  to  them  their  hearts  were  very  glad. 
Wherever  we  should  see  fit  to  "make  mission,"  there  he 
and  his  people  would  go,  and  would  help  build  for  us  and 
help  us  in  every  way;  but  he  hoped  it  would  be  near  Lake 
Mansfield  and  the  Crossing,  where  most  of  them  lived  at 
present.  Farther  down  the  river  was  not  so  good  for 
their  hunting  and  fishing,  but  they  would  go  wherever 
we  said.     That  was  the  burden  of  the  chief's  speech. 

I  took  a  liking  to  the  old  man  at  once.  He  was  evi- 
dently a  chief  that  was  a  chief.  The  chieftainship  here 
was  plainly  not  the  effete  and  decaying  institution  it  is 
in  many  places  on  the  Yukon.  He  spoke  for  all  his  peo- 
ple without  hesitation  or  question,  and  one  felt  that  what 
he  said  was  law  amongst  them. 

There  followed  for  two  days  an  almost  continuous 
course  of  instruction  in  the  elements  of  the  Christian  faith 
and  Christian  morals,  all  day  long  and  far  into  the  night, 
with  no  more  interval  than  cooking  and  eating  required. 
In  the  largest  tent  of  the  encampment,  packed  full  of 
men  and  women,  the  children  wedged  in  where  they  could 
get,  myself  seated  on  a  pile  of  robes  and  skins,  my  inter- 
preters at  my  side,  my  hearers  squatted  on  the  spruce 
boughs  of  the  floor,  the  instruction  went  on.  As  it  pro- 
ceeded, the  interpretation  improved,  though  it  was  still 
difficult  and  clumsy,  as  speaking  through  two  minds  and 
two  mouths  must  always  be.  Whenever  I  stopped  there 
was  urgent  request  to  go  on,  until  at  last  my  voice  was 


264    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

almost  gone  with  incessant  use.  Over  and  over  the  same 
things  I  went;  the  cardinal  facts  of  religion — the  Incarna- 
tion, the  Crucifixion,  the  Resurrection,  the  Ascension; 
the  cardinal  laws  of  morality — the  prohibition  of  murder, 
adultery,  theft,  and  falsehood;  that  something  definite 
might  be  left  behind  that  should  not  be  lost  in  the  vague- 
ness of  general  recollection,  and  always  with  the  insis- 
tence that  this  was  God's  world  and  not  the  devil's  world, 
a  world  in  which  good  should  ultimately  prevail  in  spite 
of  all  opposition. 

It  is  at  once  a  high  privilege  and  a  solemn  responsi- 
bility to  deal  with  souls  to  whom  the  appeal  of  the  Chris- 
tian religion  had  never  before  been  made,  as  were  most 
of  my  hearers.  One  cannot  call  them  "heathen."  One 
never  thinks  of  these  Alaskan  natives  as  heathen.  "  Sav- 
age" and  "heathen"  and  "pagan"  all  meant,  of  course, 
in  their  origin,  just  country  people,  and  point  to  some 
old-time,  tremendous  superciliousness  of  the  city-bred, 
long  since  disappeared,  except,  perhaps,  from  such  places 
as  Whitechapel  and  the  Bowery.  A  savage  is  simply  a 
forest  dweller,  a  heathen  a  heath  dweller,  and  for  a  large 
part  of  each  year  I  come,  etymologically,  within  the  terms 
myself.  But  with  its  ordinary  implication  of  ferocity 
and  bloodthirstiness  it  is  absurd  to  apply  the  word 
"savage"  to  the  mild  and  gentle  Alaskan  Indian,  and, 
with  its  ordinary  implication  of  bowing  down  to 
wood  and  stone,  it  is  misleading  to  apply  the  term 
"heathen"  to  those  who  never  made  any  sort  of  graven 
image. 

Much  has  been  written,  and  cleverly  written,  about 


SAVAGE,  HEATHEN,   PAGAN  265 

the  Alaskan  Indian  that  is  preposterously  untrue. 
Arthur,  my  half-breed  boy,  had  recently  been  reading  a 
story  by  Jack  London,  dealing  with  the  Indians  in  the 
vicinity  of  Tanana,  where  he  was  bred  and  born,  and 
his  indignation  at  the  representation  of  his  people  in 
this  story  was  amusing.  The  story  was  called  The  Wit 
of  Porportuk,  and  it  presented  a  native  chief  in  almost 
baronial  state,  with  slaves  waiting  upon  him  in  a  large 
banqueting  hall  and  I  know  not  what  accumulated  wealth 
of  furs  and  gold.  Such  pictures  are  far  more  flagrantly 
untrue  to  any  conditions  that  ever  existed  in  Alaska  than 
anything  Fenimore  Cooper  wrote  about  the  Five  Na- 
tions. There  were  never  any  slaves  in  the  interior;  there 
was  never  any  wealth  amongst  the  Indians;  there  was 
never  any  state  and  circumstance  of  life.  And  the  more 
one  lives  amongst  them  and  knows  them,  the  less  one  be- 
lieves that  they  could  ever  have  been  a  warlike  people, 
despite  their  own  traditions.  Sporadic  forays,  fostered 
by  their  ignorant  dread  of  one  another  or  stirred  up  by 
rival  medicine-men,  there  may  have  been  between  differ- 
ent tribes — and  there  certainly  were  between  the  Indians 
and  the  Esquimaux — with  ambuscade  and  slaughter  of 
isolated  hunting  parties  that  ventured  too  far  beyond  the 
confines  of  their  own  territory;  and  one  such  affair  would 
furnish  tradition  for  generations  to  dilate  upon.  I  have 
myself  found  all  the  men  of  Nulato  gone  scouting,  or 
hiding — I  could  not  determine  which — in  the  hills  with 
their  guns,  upon  a  rumour  that  the  "Huskies,"  or  Esqui- 
maux, were  coming;  I  have  known  the  Indians  of  the 
Yukon  and  the  Tanana,  and  as  far  as  the  Koyukuk,  ex- 


266    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

cited  and  alarmed  over  the  friendly  visit  of  a  handful  of 
ragged  natives  from  the  Copper  River  to  Nenana  at 
Christmas  time,  although  in  either  case  it  must  certainly 
have  been  fifty  years  since  there  was  any  actual  hostile 
incursion,  and  probably  much  longer. 

They  are  a  very  timid  people,  and  an  exceedingly 
peaceable  people.  Years  and  years  may  be  spent  amongst 
them  without  knowledge  of  a  single  act  of  violence  be- 
tween Indian  men;  they  do  not  quarrel  and  fight.  Bold 
enough  in  the  chase,  willing  to  face  dangers  of  ice  and 
water  and  wild  beast,  they  have  a  dread  of  anything  like 
personal  encounter,  and  will  submit  to  a  surprising  amount 
of  imposition  and  overbearing  on  the  part  of  a  white  man 
without  resorting  to  it.  I  knew  a  certain  white  man 
who  claimed  a  whole  river  valley  north  of  the  Yukon  as 
his,  who  warned  off  hunting  parties  of  Indians  who  ven- 
tured upon  it,  and  made  them  give  up  game  killed  in 
"his  territory."  They  came  to  the  mission  and  com- 
plained about  it,  but  they  never  withstood  the  usurper. 
It  ought  to  be  added  that  it  always  appeared  more  as 
the  making  good  of  a  practical  joke  than  as  a  serious  pre- 
tension, but  the  point  is — the  Indians  submitted. 

So  far  as  these  natives  of  the  interior  are  concerned 
they  were  never  idolaters.  I  cannot  find  that  they  had 
any  distinct  notion  of  worship  at  all.  Their  religion  had 
root  in  a  certain  frantic  terror  of  the  unknown,  and  found 
expression  in  ceaseless  efforts  to  propitiate  the  malign 
spirits  surrounding  them  on  every  side.  Thus  they  were 
given  over  to  the  mastery  of  those  amongst  them  who 
had  the  traditional  art  of  such  propitiation,  and  fell  more 


A  GENTLE,  TIMID  PEOPLE       267 

or  less  completely  under  that  cruellest  and  most  venal  of 
sways,  the  tyranny  of  the  witch-doctor.  It  is  impossible 
to  doubt,  and  hard  to  exaggerate,  the  grinding  and  brutal 
exactions  to  which  this  rule  led.  Anything  that  a  man 
possessed  might  be  demanded  and  must  be  yielded,  on 
pain  of  disease  and  death,  even  to  the  whole  season's 
catch  of  fur  or  the  deflowering  of  a  young  daughter.  The 
utmost  greed  and  lust  that  can  disgrace  humanity  found 
its  Indian  expression  in  the  lives  of  some  of  these  medicine- 
men. 

Since  every  sort  of  tyranny  has  its  vulnerable  spot, 
since  the  despotism  of  Russia  was  tempered  by  assassi- 
nation and  of  Japan  by  the  eff^ect  of  public  suicide,  so 
melioration  of  the  tyranny  of  the  medicine-man  seems 
to  have  been  found  in  rivalry  amongst  members  of  the 
craft  itself.  Oppressed  beyond  endurance  by  one  prac- 
titioner, allegiance  would  be  transferred  to  some  new 
claimant  of  occult  powers,  and  the  breaking  of  the 
monopoly  of  magic  would  be  followed  by  a  temporary 
lightening  of  the  burdens.  Some  of  the  most  lurid  of 
Alaskan  legends  deal  with  the  thaumaturgic  contests  of 
rival  medicine-men,  and  one  judges  that  sleight  of  hand 
and  even  hypnotic  suggestion  were  cultivated  to  a  fine 
point. 

To  such  minds  the  Christian  teaching  comes  with 
glad  and  one  may  say  instantaneous  acceptance.  Their 
attitude  is  entirely  childlike.  They  are  anxious  to  be 
told  more  and  more  about  it,  to  be  told  it  over  and  over 
again.  There  is  never  the  slightest  sign  of  incredulity. 
It  does  not  occur  to  them  as  possible  that  a  man  should 


268    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

be  sent  all  this  way  to  them,  should  hunt  them  up  and 
seek  them  out  to  tell  It  to  them,  unless  it  were  true.  And 
one  learns  over  again  how  universal  is  the  appeal  the 
Christian  religion,  and  in  particular  the  Life  of  Our  Lord, 
makes  to  mankind.  I  have  seen  Indians  and  Esquimaux 
mixed,  hearing  for  the  first  time  the  details  of  the  Passion, 
stirred  to  as  great  indignation  as  was  that  barbarian 
chieftain  who  laid  his  hand  on  his  sword  and  cried, 
"Would  I  and  my  men  had  been  there!"  or  those  Western 
cowboys,  so  the  story  runs,  bred  in  illiteracy  and  irre- 
ligion,  to  whose  children  a  school-teacher  had  given  an 
account  of  the  same  great  events,  and  who  rode  up  to  the 
schoolhouse  the  next  day  with  guns  and  ropes,  and  asked: 
"Which  way  did  them  blamed  Jews  go?" 

The  medicine-man  lies  low;  may  himself  profess  ac- 
ceptance of  the  new  teaching,  may  even  really  accept  it 
(for  it  is  very  hard,  indeed,  to  follow  and  judge  all  the 
mental  processes  of  an  Indian) — yes,  though  it  expressly 
sweep  all  his  devils  away,  out  of  the  sick,  out  of  the  wind 
and  storm,  from  off  every  grave  mound,  though  it  leave 
him  no  paltry  net-tearing  or  trap-springing  sprite  to 
work  upon  with  his  conjurations;  yet  the  old  supersti- 
tion dies  hard,  often  crops  up  when  one  had  thought  it 
perished,  and  even  sometimes  maintains  itself,  sub  rosa, 
side  by  side  with  definite,  regular  Christian  worship. 

The  arctic  explorer  Stefanson,  a  careful  and  acute 
observer  who  has  had  exceptional  opportunities  for  ob- 
servation of  the  intimate  life  of  the  Esquimaux,  has 
written  much  lately  of  the  grafting  of  Christianity  upon 
native  superstition  and  the  existence  of  both  together. 


THE  OLD,  OLD  STORY  269 

as  though  It  were  some  new  thing  or  newly  noticed  by 
himself.  Yet  every  one  familiar  with  the  history  of 
Christianity  knows  that  it  has  characterised  the  progress 
of  religion  in  all  ages.  There  was  never  a  people  yet 
that  did  not  in  great  measure  do  this  thing,  nor  is  it 
reasonable  to  suppose  that  it  could  have  been  otherwise. 
It  is  impossible  to  make  a  tabula  rasa  of  men's  minds. 
It  is  impossible  to  uproot  customs  of  immemorial  antiq- 
uity without  leaving  some  rootlets  behind.  And  what 
is  acquired  joins  itself  insensibly  to  what  is  retained, 
and  either  the  incongruity  is  hidden  beneath  a  change 
of  nomenclature  or  is  not  hidden  at  all.  Our  own  social 
life  is  threaded  through  and  through  with  customs  and 
practices  which  go  back  to  a  superstitious  origin.  The 
matter  is  such  a  commonplace  of  history  that  it  is  boot- 
less to  labour  it  here. 

A  scientist  is  only  a  "scientist."  How  that  name 
tends  continually  to  depreciate  itself  as  the  pursuit  of 
physical  science  is  divorced  more  and  more  completely 
from  a  knowledge  of  literature,  from  a  knowledge  of  the 
humanities!  And  a  scientist  is  a  poor  guide  to  an  ac- 
quaintance with  man,  civilised  or  uncivilised.  To  come 
to  the  study  of  any  race  of  man,  even  the  most  prim- 
itive, without  some  knowledge  of  all  the  long  history  of 
man,  of  all  the  long  history  of  man's  thought,  man's 
methods,  man's  strivings,  man's  accomplishments,  man's 
failures,  is  to  come  so  ill  equipped  that  no  just  conclusions 
are  likely  to  be  reached.  Your  exclusive  "scientist" — 
and  such  are  most  of  them  to-day — may  be  competent 
to  deal  with  circles  and  triangles,  with  wheels  and  levers 


270    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

with  cells  and  glands,  with  germs  and  bacilli  and  micro- 
organisms generally,  with  magnetos  and  dynamos,  with 
all  the  heavenly  host  if  you  like,  but  he  has  no  equipment 
to  deal  with  man!  Somatic  anthropology  in  particular 
tends  to  assume  in  some  quarters  such  an  overimpor- 
tance  that  one  falls  back  upon  the  recollection  that  the 
original  head  measurers  were  hatters  and  that  all  hatters 
are  proverbially  mad.  The  occupation  would  seem  to 
carry  the  taint. 

It  was  with  much  pleasure  that  I  was  able  to  hold 
out  hope  to  Chief  Isaac  of  the  mission  and  the  school  he 
desired  so  earnestly  for  his  people.  It  must  not  be  sup- 
posed that  all  of  them  were  in  the  completely  unevan- 
gelised  state  which  has  been  dwelt  upon,  that  to  all  of 
them  the  teaching  of  those  two  full  days  was  novel ;  some 
of  them,  like  the  chief  himself,  had  been  across  to  the 
Yukon  long  ago  and  still  bore  some  trace  of  the  early  la- 
bours of  the  Church  of  England  missionaries  to  whom  this 
region  of  Alaska  that  adjoins  Canada  is  so  much  indebted. 
Others  had  once  been  to  the  Ketchumstock,  upon  the 
occasion  of  a  visit  from  our  missionary  at  Eagle,  and 
had  received  instruction  from  him.  But  there  were 
many  present  in  that  tent  who  had  never  seen  any  mis- 
sionary, never  had  any  teaching,  to  whom  it  was  wholly 
new  save  as  they  might  have  picked  up  some  inkling  from 
those  that  had  been  more  fortunate. 

When  we  left  this  encampment  Isaac  sent  two  of  his 
young  men  to  guide  us,  with  a  sled  drawn  by  three  or 
four  small  dogs,  so  gaily  caparisoned  with  tapis  and  rib- 
bons, tinsel,  and  pompons,  that  they  might  have  been 


TRIBAL  CONNECTIONS  271 

circus  dogs.  Here  again  is  evidence  of  this  tribe's  affin- 
ity with  the  upper  Yukon  natives,  and  so  with  those  of 
the  Mackenzie.  I  never  saw  the  tapisy  a  broad,  bright 
ornamented  cloth  that  hes  upon  the  dog's  back  under  his 
harness,  on  the  Middle  Yukon.  It  is  characteristic  of 
the  Peel  River  Indians  who  come  across  by  the  Rampart 
House  and  La  Pierre  House. 

A  few  hours'  journey  brought  us  to  the  Tanana  River 
again,  which  we  crossed,  and  took  a  portage  on  the  other 
side  that  went  up  a  long  defile  and  then  along  a  ridge  and 
then  down  another  long  defile  until  at  night  we  reached 
the  native  village  at  Lake  Mansfield;  a  picturesque  spot, 
for  the  lake  is  entirely  surrounded  by  mountains  except 
on  the  side  which  opens  to  the  river.  Here  the  Alaskan 
range  and  the  Tanana  River  have  approached  so  close 
that  the  water  almost  washes  the  base  of  the  foot-hills, 
and  the  scenery  is  as  fine  and  bold  as  any  in  Alaska.  And 
here,  at  Lake  Mansfield,  if  only  there  were  navigable  con- 
nection between  the  lake  and  the  river  into  which  it 
drains,  would  be  an  admirable  place  for  a  mission  station. 

A  couple  of  hours  next  day  took  us  the  seven  remain- 
ing miles  to  the  Tanana  Crossing.  Here,  at  that  time, 
was  a  station  of  the  military  telegraph  connecting  Valdez 
on  the  coast  with  Fort  Egbert  (Eagle)  on  the  Yukon,  a 
line  maintained,  at  enormous  expense,  purely  for  military 
purposes.  It  passed  through  an  almost  entirely  unin- 
habited country  in  which  perhaps  scarcely  a  dozen  mes- 
sages would  originate  in  a  year.  The  telegraph-line  and 
Fort  Egbert  itself  are  now  abandoned.  Strategic  con- 
siderations constitute  a  vague  and  variable  quantity. 


272    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

It  was  strange  to  find  this  little  station  with  two  or 
three  men  of  the  signal-corps  away  out  here  in  the  wil- 
derness. Their  post  was  supplied  by  mule  pack-train  from 
Fort  Egbert,  more  than  two  hundred  miles  away,  and 
they  told  me  that  only  ten  pounds  out  of  every  hundred 
that  left  Fort  Egbert  reached  the  Crossing,  so  self-limited 
is  a  pack-train  through  such  country.  We  amused  our- 
selves calculating  just  how  much  farther  mules  and  men 
could  go  until  they  ate  up  all  they  could  carry. 

The  Tanana  Crossing  is  a  central  spot  for  the  Indians 
of  this  region.  Two  days'  journey  up  the  river  was  the 
village  of  the  Tetlin  Indians.  Two  days'  journey  into 
the  mountain  range  were  the  Mantasta  Indians.  Two 
days'  journey  across  towards  the  Yukon  were  the  Ketch- 
umstock  Indians.  Most  of  them  would  congregate  at 
this  spot  for  certain  parts  of  the  year,  should  we  plant  a 
mission  there,  and  despite  the  picturesque  situation  of 
Lake  Mansfield,  it  looked  as  if  the  Crossing  were  the  best 
point  for  building. 

Our  route  lay  northeast,  across  country  to  Fortymile 
on  the  Yukon,  two  hundred  and  fifty  miles  away,  along 
the  trail  for  the  greater  part  of  the  distance  by  which 
the  mule  train  reached  the  Tanana  Crossing.  The  first 
five  miles  was  all  up-hill,  a  long,  stiff,  steady  climb  to 
the  crest  of  the  mountain  that  rises  just  behind  the  Cross- 
ing. We  had  to  take  it  slowly,  with  frequent  stops,  so 
steep  was  the  grade,  and  every  now  and  then  we  got  tan- 
talising glimpses  through  the  timber  of  the  scene  that 
spread  wider  and  wider  below  us.  Bend  after  bend  of 
the  Tanana   River  unfolded   itself;   the  Alaskan   range 


THE  XANANA  CROSSING  273 

gave  peak  after  peak;  there  lay  Lake  Mansfield,  deep  in 
its  amphitheatre  of  hills,  with  the  Indian  village  at  its 
head. 

At  last  my  impatience  for  the  view  that  promised 
made  me  leave  the  boys  (we  still  had  Isaac's  young  men) 
and  push  on  alone  to  the  top.  And  it  was  indeed  by  far 
the  noblest  view  of  the  winter,  one  of  the  grandest  and 
most  extensive  panoramas  I  had  ever  seen  in  my  life. 

Perhaps  three  miles  away,  as  the  crow  flies,  from  the 
river,  and  seventeen  hundred  and  fifty  feet  above  it,  as 
the  aneroid  gave  it,  we  were  already  on  the  watershed, 
and  everywhere  in  the  direction  we  were  travelling  the 
wide-flung  draws  and  gullies  of  the  Fortymile  River 
stretched  out,  so  clear  and  beautiful  a  display  of  the  be- 
ginnings of  a  great  drainage  system  that  my  attention 
was  arrested,  notwithstanding  my  eagerness  for  the  sight 
that  awaited  my  turning  around.  But  it  was  upon  turn- 
ing around  and  looking  in  the  direction  from  which  we 
had  come  that  the  grandeur  and  sublimity  entered  into 
the  scene.  There  was,  indeed,  no  one  great  dominating 
feature  in  this  prospect  as  in  the  view  of  Denali  from  the 
Rampart  portage,  but  the  whole  background,  bounding 
the  vision  completely,  was  one  vast  wall  of  lofty  white 
peaks,  stretching  without  a  break  for  a  hundred  miles. 
Enormous  cloud  masses  rose  and  fell  about  this  barrier, 
now  unfolding  to  reveal  dark  chasms  and  glittering  gla- 
ciers, now  enshrouding  them  again.  In  the  middle  dis- 
tance the  Tanana  River  wound  and  twisted  its  firm  white 
line  amidst  broken  patches  of  snow  and  timber  far  away 
to  either  hand,  and,  where  glacial  affluents  discharged 


274    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

into  it,  were  finer,  threadlike  lines  that  marked  the  many 
mouths.  The  thick  spruce  mantling  the  slope  in  the 
foreground  gave  a  sombre  contrast  to  the  fields  of  snow, 
and  the  yellow  March  sunshine  was  poured  over  all  the 
wide  landscape  save  where  the  great  clouds  contended 
with  the  great  mountains. 

The  boys  had  stopped  to  build  a  fire  and  brew  some 
tea  before  leaving  the  timber,  and  I  was  glad  of  it,  for  it 
gave  me  the  chance  to  gaze  my  fill  upon  the  inspiring 
and  fascinating  scene  in  the  pleasant  warmth  of  the 
mountain  top,  with  the  thermometer  at  30°  in  the  shade 
and  just  12°  higher  in  the  sunshine. 

How  grateful  I  was  for  the  clear  bright  day !  What  a 
disappointment  it  has  been  again  and  again  to  reach 
such  an  eminence  and  see — nothing!  It  was  the  most 
extensive  view  of  the  great  Alaskan  range  I  had  ever 
secured — that  long  line  of  sharp  peaks  that  stretches  and 
broadens  from  the  coast  inland  until  it  culminates  in  the 
highest  point  of  the  North  American  continent  and  then 
curves  its  way  back  to  the  coast  again.  Of  course,  what 
lay  here  within  the  vision  was  only  a  small  part  of  one 
arm  of  the  range;  it  stopped  far  short  of  Denali  on  the 
one  hand  and  Mount  Sanford  on  the  other,  though  it 
included  Mount  Kimball  and  Mount  Hayes;  yet  it  was 
the  most  impressive  sight  of  a  mountain  chain  I  had 
ever  beheld.  It  was  a  sight  to  be  glad  and  grateful 
for,  to  put  high  amongst  one's  joyful  remembrances; 
and  with  this  notable  sight  we  bade  farewell  to  the 
Tanana  valley. 

Down  the  hill  we  went  into  Fortymile  water  and  into 


A  NOBLE  VIEW  275 

a  rolling  country  crossed  by  the  military  mule  trail.  If 
the  morning  had  been  glorious  the  evening  was  full  of 
penance.  Long  before  night  our  feet  were  sore  from 
slipping  and  sliding  into  those  wretched  mule  tracks. 
One  cannot  take  one's  eyes  from  the  trail  for  a  moment, 
every  footstep  must  be  watched,  and  even  then  one  is 
continually  stumbling. 

We  were  able,  however,  to  rig  our  team  with  the  double 
hitch  that  is  so  much  more  economical  of  power  than  the 
tandem  hitch,  whenever  the  width  of  the  trail  permits  it. 
We  now  carry  a  convertible  rig,  so  that  on  narrow  trails 
or  in  deep  snow  we  can  string  out  the  dogs  one  in  front 
of  the  other,  and  when  the  trail  is  wide  enough  can  hitch 
them  side  by  side.  "Seal,"  the  Great  Dane  pup  we  got 
at  the  Salchaket,  was  a  good  and  strong  puller,  but  he 
had  no  coat  and  no  sense.  It  is  bad  enough  to  have  no 
coat  in  this  country,  but  to  have  no  coat  and  no  sense 
is  fatal — as  he  found.  His  feet  were  continually  sore 
and  he  had  to  be  specially  provided  for  at  night  if  it 
were  at  all  cold — a  dog  utterly  unsuited  to  Alaska. 

Thirty  miles  of  such  going  as  has  been  described  is 
tiring  in  the  extreme,  and  when  we  reached  the  Lone 
Cabin,  behold!  fifteen  Indians  camped  about  it,  for  whom, 
when  supper  was  done,  followed  two  hours  of  teaching  and 
the  baptism  of  six  children.  I  would  have  liked  to  have 
stayed  a  day  with  them,  but  if  we  were  to  spend  Palm 
Sunday  at  Fortymile  and  Easter  at  Eagle  as  had  been 
promised,  the  time  remaining  did  no  more  than  serve; 
and  there  was  a  large  band  of  Indians  to  visit  at  Ketch- 
umstock. 


276    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

The  next  day  took  us  into  and  across  the  Ketchum- 
stock  Flats,  a  wide  basin  surrounded  by  hills  and  drained 
by  the  Mosquito  Fork  of  the  Fortymile.  The  telegraph- 
line,  supported  on  tripods  against  the  summer  yielding 
of  the  marshy  soil,  cuts  straight  across  country.  This 
basin  and  the  hills  around  form  one  of  the  greatest  cari- 
bou countries,  perhaps,  in  the  world.  All  day  we  had 
passed  fragments  of  the  long  fences  that  were  in  use  in 
times  past  by  the  Indians  for  driving  the  animals  into 
convenient  places  for  slaughter. 

The  annual  migration  of  the  vast  herd  that  roams  the 
section  of  Alaska  between  the  Yukon  and  the  Tanana 
Rivers  swarms  over  this  Flat  and  through  these  hills, 
and  we  were  told  at  the  Ketchumstock  telegraph  station 
by  the  signal-corps  men  that  they  estimated  that  up- 
ward of  one  hundred  thousand  animals  crossed  the  Mos- 
quito Fork  the  previous  October. 

The  big  game  of  Alaska  is  not  yet  seriously  diminished, 
though  there  was  need  for  the  legal  protection  that  has 
of  late  years  been  given.  It  is  probable  that  more  cari- 
bou and  young  moose  are  killed  every  year  by  wolves 
than  by  hunters.  Only  in  the  neighbourhood  of  a  con- 
siderable settlement  is  there  danger  of  reckless  and  waste- 
ful slaughter,  and  some  attention  is  paid  by  game  wardens 
to  the  markets  of  such  places.  The  mountain-sheep 
stands  in  greater  danger  of  extermination  than  either 
caribou  or  moose.  Its  meat,  the  most  delicious  mutton 
in  the  world,  as  it  has  been  pronounced  by  epicures, 
brings  a  higher  price  than  other  wild  meat,  and  it  is  easy 
to  destroy  a  band  completely.     The  sheep  on  the  moun- 


CARIBOU  277 

tains  of  the  Alaskan  range  nearest  to  Fairbanks  have,  it 
is  said,  been  very  greatly  diminished,  and  that  need  not 
be  wondered  at  when  one  sees  sled  load  after  sled  load, 
aggregating  several  tons  of  meat,  brought  in  at  one  ship- 
ment. The  law  protecting  the  sheep  probably  needs 
tightening  up. 

The  big  game  is  a  great  resource  to  all  the  people  of 
the  country,  white  and  native.  It  is  no  small  advantage 
to  be  able  to  take  one's  gun  in  the  fall  and  go  out  in  the 
valleys  and  kill  a  moose  that  will  suffice  for  one  man's 
meat  almost  the  whole  winter,  or  go  into  the  hills  and 
kill  four  or  five  caribou  that  will  stock  his  larder  equally 
well.  The  fresh,  clean  meat  of  the  wilds  has  to  most 
palates  far  finer  flavour  than  any  cold-storage  meat  that 
can  be  brought  into  the  country;  and,  save  at  one  or  two 
centres  of  population  and  distribution,  cold-storage  meat 
is  not  available  at  all.  Without  its  big  game  Alaska 
would  be  virtually  uninhabitable.  Therefore  most  white 
men  are  content  that  the  necessary  measures  be  taken  to 
prevent  the  wasteful  slaughter  of  the  game ;  for  the  rights 
of  the  prospector  and  trapper  and  traveller,  and  the 
rights  of  the  natives  to  kill  at  any  time  what  is  necessary 
for  food,  are  explicitly  reserved. 

We  reached  the  village  and  telegraph  post  of  Ketchum- 
stock  for  the  night  only  to  find  all  the  natives  gone  hunt- 
ing; but  since  they  had  gone  in  the  direction  of  Chicken 
Creek,  towards  which  we  were  travelling,  we  were  able 
to  catch  up  with  them  the  next  morning  without  going 
far  out  of  our  way.  While  we  were  pitching  our  tent 
near  their  encampment  came  two  or  three  natives  with 


278    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

dog  teams,  and  as  the  dogs  hesitated  to  pass  our  dogs, 
loose  on  the  trail,  a  voluble  string  of  curses  in  English 
fell  from  the  Indian  lips.  Such  is  usually  the  first  indi- 
cation of  contact  with  white  men,  and  in  this  case  it 
spoke  of  the  proximity  of  the  mining  on  Chicken  Creek. 
To  discover  the  women  chewing  tobacco  was  to  add  but 
another  evidence  of  the  sophistication  of  this  tribe;  a 
different  people  from  Chief  Isaac's  tribe,  different  through 
many  years'  familiarity  with  the  whites  at  these  diggings. 
If  the  mission  to  be  built  at  the  Crossing  tends  to  keep 
these  Indians  on  the  Tanana  River  and  thus  away  from 
the  demoralisation  of  the  diggings,  it  will  do  them  solid 
service.' 

In  some  way  foul  and  profane  language  falls  even  more 
offensively  from  Indians  than  from  whites;  for  the  same 
reason,  perhaps,  that  it  sounds  more  offensive  and  shock- 
ing from  children  than  from  adults.  Sometimes  the 
Indian  does  not  in  the  least  understand  the  meaning  of 
the  words  he  uses;  they  are  the  first  English  words  he 
ever  heard  and  he  hears  them  over  and  over  again. 

So  here  another  day  and  a  half  was  spent  in  instruc- 
tion. There  are  some  forty  souls  in  this  tribe  and  they 
have  had  teaching  from  time  to  time,  though  not  in  the 
last  few  years,  at  the  mouths  of  missionaries  from  Yukon 
posts.  Most  of  the  adults  had  been  baptized;  I  baptized 
sixteen  children.  One  curious  feature  of  my  stay  was 
the  megaphonic  recapitulation  of  the  heads  of  the  in- 
struction, after  each  session,  by  an  elderly  Indian  who 
stood  out  in  the  midst  of  the  tents.  What  on  earth  this 
man,  with  his  town-crier  voice,  was  proclaiming  at  such 


THE   KETCHUMSTOCK  279 

length,  we  were  at  a  loss  to  conjecture,  and  upon  inquiry 
were  informed:  "Them  women,  not  much  sense;  one  time 
tell  *em,  quick  forget;  two  time  tell  'em,  maybe  little 
remember."  So  when  we  stopped  for  dinner  and  for 
supper  and  for  bed,  each  time  this  brazen-lunged  spieler 
stood  forth  and  reiterated  the  main  points  of  the  dis- 
course "for  the  hareem^''  as  Doughty  would  say,  whose 
account  of  the  attitude  of  the  Arabs  to  their  women  often 
reminds  me  of  the  Alaskan  Indians.  It  was  interesting, 
but  I  should  have  preferred  to  edit  the  recapitulation. 

When  all  was  done  for  the  day  and  we  thought  to  go 
to  bed  came  an  Indian  named  "Bum-Eyed-Bob"  (these 
white  man's  nicknames,  however  dreadful,  are  always  ac- 
cepted and  used)  for  a  long  confabulation  about  the  affairs 
of  the  tribe,  and  I  gathered  incidentally  that  gambling 
at  the  telegraph  station  had  been  the  main  diversion  of 
the  winter.  It  seems  ungracious  to  insist  so  much  upon 
the  evil  influence  of  the  white  men — we  had  been  cordially 
received  and  entertained  at  that  very  place,  and  our 
money  refused — but  there  is  little  doubt  that  the  aban- 
donment of  the  telegraph-line  will  be  a  good  thing  for 
these  natives.  Put  two  or  three  young  men  of  no  special 
intellectual  resource  or  ambition  down  in  a  lonely  spot  like 
this,  with  no  society  at  all  save  that  of  the  natives  and 
practically  nothing  to  do,  and  there  is  a  natural  and  almost 
inevitable  trend  to  evil.  To  the  exceptional  man  with 
the  desire  of  promotion,  with  books,  and  all  this  leisure, 
it  would  be  an  admirable  opportunity,  but  he  would  be 
quite  an  exceptional  man  who  should  rise  altogether 
superior  to  the  temptations  to  idleness  and  debauchery. 


28o    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

One  may  have  true  and  deep  sympathy  with  these  young 
men  and  yet  be  conscious  of  the  harm  they  often  bring 
about. 

Ten  miles  or  so  from  the  encampment  brought  us  to 
Chicken  Creek,  and  from  that  point  we  took  the  Forty- 
mile  River.  The  direct  trail  to  Eagle  with  its  exasperat- 
ing mule  tracks  was  now  left,  and  our  journey  was  on 
the  ice.  But  so  warm  was  the  weather  that  i6th  of 
March  that  we  were  wet-foot  all  day,  and  within  the 
space  of  eight  hours  that  we  were  travelling  we  had  snow, 
sleet,  rain,  and  sunshine.  Leaving  the  main  river,  we 
turned  up  Walker  Fork  and,  after  a  few  miles,  leaving 
that,  we  turned  up  Jack  Wade  Creek  and  pursued  it  far  up 
towards  its  head  ere  we  reached  the  road-house  for  the 
night. 

We  were  now  on  historic  ground,  so  far  as  gold  mining 
in  Alaska  is  concerned.  The  "  Fortymilers "  bear  the 
same  pioneer  relation  to  gold  mining  in  the  North  that 
the  "Fortyniners"  bear  to  gold  mining  in  California. 
Ever  since  1886  placers  have  been  worked  in  this  dis- 
trict, and  it  still  yields  gold,  though  the  output  and  the 
number  of  men  are  alike  much  reduced.  It  is  interesting 
to  talk  with  some  of  the  original  locators  of  this  camp, 
who  may  yet  be  found  here  and  there  in  the  country,  and 
to  learn  of  the  conditions  in  those  early  days  when  a 
steamboat  came  up  the  Yukon  once  in  a  season  bringing 
such  supplies  and  mail  as  the  men  received  for  the  year. 
It  was  here  that  the  problem  of  working  frozen  ground 
was  first  confronted  and  solved;  here  that  the  first 
"miner's  law"  was  promulgated,  the  first  "miners'  meet- 


THE   FORTYMILE  281 

ing"  dealt  out  justice.  Your  "old-timer"  anywhere  is 
commonly  laudator  temporis  acti,  but  there  is  good  reason 
to  believe  that  these  early,  and  certainly  most  adven- 
turous, gold-miners,  some  of  whom  forced  a  way  into  the 
country  when  there  were  no  routes  of  travel,  and  sub- 
sisted on  its  resources  while  they  explored  and  prospected 
it,  were  men  of  a  higher  stamp  than  many  who  have  come 
in  since.  The  extent  to  which  that  early  prospecting  was 
carried  is  not  generally  known,  for  these  men,  after  the 
manner  of  their  kind,  left  no  record  behind  them.  There 
are  few  creek  beds  that  give  any  promise  at  all  in  the 
whole  of  this  vast  country  that  have  not  had  some  holes 
sunk  in  them.  Even  in  districts  so  remote  as  the  Koyu- 
kuk,  signs  of  old  prospecting  are  encountered.  When  a 
stampede  took  place  to  the  Red  Mountain  or  Indian 
River  country  of  the  middle  Koyukuk  in  1911-12,  I 
was  told  that  there  was  not  a  creek  in  the  camp  that  did 
not  show  signs  of  having  been  prospected  long  before, 
although  it  had  passed  altogether  out  of  knowledge  that 
this  particular  region  had  ever  been  visited  by  prospec- 
tors. 

As  the  Fortymile  is  the  oldest  gold  camp  in  the  North, 
some  of  its  trail  making  is  of  the  best  in  Alaska.  In 
particular  the  trail  from  the  head  of  Jack  Wade  Creek 
down  into  Steel  Creek  reminded  one  of  the  Alpine  roads 
in  its  bold,  not  to  say  daring,  engineering.  It  drops  from 
bench  to  bench  in  great  sweeping  curves  always  with  a 
practicable  grade,  and  must  descend  nigh  a  thousand  feet 
in  a  couple  of  miles.  At  the  mouth  of  Steel  Creek  we 
are  on  the  Fortymile  River  again,  having  saved  a  day's 


282    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

journey  by  this  traverse.  And  here,  on  the  Fortymile, 
we  passed  several  men  "  sniping  on  the  bars,"  as  the  very 
first  Alaskan  gold-miners  did  on  this  same  river,  and 
probably  on  these  same  bars,  twenty-five  years  ago. 
One  hand  moved  the  "rocker"  to  and  fro  and  the  other 
poured  water  into  it  with  the  "long  Tom";  so  was  the 
gold  washed  out  of  the  gravel  taken  from  just  below  the 
ice.  It  was  interesting  to  see  this  primitive  method  still 
in  practice  and  to  learn  from  the  men  that  they  were 
making  "better  than  wages." 

The  Fortymile  is  a  very  picturesque  but  most  tortuous 
river.  In  one  place,  called  appropriately  "The  Kink,"  I 
was  able  to  clamber  over  a  ridge  of  rocks  and  reach  an- 
other bend  of  the  river  in  six  or  seven  minutes,  and  then 
had  to  wait  twenty-five  minutes  for  the  dog  team,  going 
at  a  good  clip,  to  come  around  to  me.  At  length  we 
reached  the  spot  where  a  vista  cut  through  the  timber 
that  clothes  both  banks,  marked  the  141st  meridian,  the 
international  boundary,  and  passed  out  of  Alaska  into 
British  territory.  A  few  miles  more  brought  us  to  Moose 
Creek,  where  a  little  Canadian  custom-house  is  situated, 
and  there  we  spent  the  night. 

The  next  day  we  reached  the  Yukon;  passing  gold 
dredges  laid  up  for  the  winter  and  other  signs  of  still- 
persisting  mining  activity,  going  through  the  narrow  wild 
canon  of  the  Fortymile,  and  so  to  the  little  town  at  its 
mouth  of  the  same  name,  where  there  is  a  mission  of  the 
Church  of  England  and  a  post  of  the  Royal  Northwest 
Mounted  Police.  I  never  come  into  contact  with  this 
admirable  body  of  men  without  wishing  that  we  had  a 


"SNIPING  ON  THE   BARS"  283 

similar  body  charged  with  the  enforcement  of  the  law 
in  Alaska. 

Sunday  was  spent  there  officiating  for  the  layman  in 
charge  of  the  mission  and  in  interesting  talk  with  the 
sergeant  of  police  about  the  annual  winter  journey  from 
Dawson  to  Fort  McPherson  on  the  McKenzie,  from  which 
he  had  just  returned  with  a  detail  of  men.  The  next 
winter  he  and  his  detail  lost  their  way  and  starved  and 
froze  to  death  on  the  same  journey. 

Here  at  one  time  was  a  flourishing  Indian  mission  and 
school,  and  here  Bishop  Bompas,  the  true  "Apostle  of  the 
North,"  lived  for  some  time.  The  story  of  this  man's 
forty-five  years'  single-eyed  devotion  to  the  Indians  of  the 
Yukon  and  McKenzie  Rivers  is  one  of  the  brave  chapters 
of  missionary  history.  But  the  Church  of  England  "  does 
not  advertise."  Writers  about  Alaska,  even  writers 
about  Alaskan  missions,  carefully  collect  all  the  data  of 
the  early  Russian  missions  on  the  coast,  but  ignore  alto- 
gether the  equally  influential  and  lasting  work  done  along 
five  hundred  miles  of  what  is  now  the  American  Yukon 
by  the  missionary  clergy  of  the  English  Church  before 
and  after  the  Purchase.  Bishop  Bompas  identified  him- 
self so  closely  with  the  natives  as  to  become  almost  one 
of  them  in  the  eyes  of  the  white  men,  and  many  curious 
stories  linger  amongst  the  old-timers  as  to  his  habits  and 
appearance.  It  is  interesting  to  know  that  the  bishop 
was  a  son  of  that  Sergeant  Bompas  of  the  English  bar 
from  whom  Dickens  drew  the  character  of  Sergeant 
Buzfuz,  counsel  for  the  plaintiff  in  the  famous  suit  of 
"Bardellv.  Pickwick," 


284    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

But  the  natives  have  all  left  Fortymile,  some  to  the 
large  village  of  Moosehide  just  below  Dawson,  some  to 
Eagle.  The  town,  too,  like  all  the  upper  Yukon  towns,  is 
much  decayed;  the  custom-house,  the  police  barracks, 
the  company's  store,  the  road-house,  and  the  little  mis- 
sion embracing  nearly  all  its  activities  and  housing  nearly 
all  its  population. 

There  is  always  some  feeling  of  satisfaction  in  reaching 
the  broad  highway  of  the  Yukon  again,  even  though 
rough  ice  make  bad  going  and  one  of  the  most  notorious, 
dirty  road-houses  in  the  North  hold  its  menace  over  one 
all  day  and  amply  fulfil  it  at  night.  There  is  indeed  so 
little  travel  on  the  river  now  that  it  does  not  pay  any 
one  to  keep  a  road-house  save  as  incidental  to  a  steam- 
boat wood  camp  and  summer  fishing  station.  Two 
short  days'  travel  brought  us  across  the  international 
boundary  again  to  Eagle  in  Alaska,  where  at  that  time 
Fort  Egbert  was  garrisoned  with  two  companies  of 
soldiers. 

Eagle  and  Fort  Egbert  together,  for  the  one  begins 
where  the  other  ends,  have  perhaps  the  finest  and  most 
commanding  situation  of  any  settlement  on  the  Yukon 
River.  The  mountains  rise  with  dignity  just  across  the 
water  and  break  pleasingly  into  the  valley  of  Eagle  Creek, 
a  few  miles  up-stream.  To  the  rear  of  the  town  an  in- 
considerable flat  does  but  give  space  and  setting  before 
the  mountains  rise  again;  while  just  below  the  military 
post  stands  the  bold  and  lofty  bluff  called  the  Eagle 
Rock,  with  Mission  Creek  winding  into  the  Yukon  at  its 
foot.     Robert  Louis  Stevenson  said  that  Edinburgh  has 


o 


EAGLE  285 

the  finest  situation  of  any  capital  in  Europe  and  pays 
for  it  by  having  the  worst  cUmate  of  any  city  in  the  world. 
It  would  not  be  just  to  paraphrase  this  description  with 
regard  to  Eagle,  for  while  it  is  unsurpassed  on  the  Yukon 
for  site,  there  are  spots  on  that  river  where  still  more 
disagreeable  weather  prevails;  yet  it  cannot  be  denied 
that  the  position  of  the  place  subjects  it  to  exceedingly 
bitter  winds,  or  that  the  valley  of  Eagle  Creek,  which 
gives  pleasing  variety  to  the  prospect,  acts  also  as  a  chan- 
nel to  convey  the  full  force  of  the  blast.  Climate  every- 
where is  a  very  local  thing;  topographical  considerations 
often  altogether  outweigh  geographical;  and  nowhere  is 
this  truer  than  in  Alaska.  Commanding  sites  are  neces- 
sarily exposed  sites,  and  he  who  would  dwell  in  comfort 
must  build  in  seclusion. 

A  native  village  of  eighty  or  ninety  souls,  with  its 
church  and  school,  lies  three  miles  up-stream  from  the 
town,  so  that  the  relative  positions  of  village,  town,  and 
military  post  exactly  duplicate  those  at  Tanana.  It 
must  at  once  be  stated,  however,  that  this  situation  has 
not  led  to  anything  like  the  demoralisation  amongst  the 
natives  at  Eagle  that  thrusts  itself  into  notice  at  the 
other  place.  Whether  it  were  the  longer  training  in 
Christian  morals  that  lay  behind  these  people,  or  better 
hap  in  the  matter  of  post  commanders  (certainly  there 
was  never  such  scandalous  irregularity  and  indifference 
at  Egbert  as  marked  one  administration  at  Gibbon),  or 
the  vigilance  during  a  number  of  consecutive  years  of  an 
especially  active  deputy  marshal  and  the  wisdom  and 
concern  through  an  even  longer  period  of  a  commissioner 


286    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

much  above  the  common  stamp,  or  all  these  causes  com- 
bined, the  natives  at  Eagle  have  not  suffered  from  the 
proximity  of  soldiers  and  civilians  in  the  same  measure 
as  the  natives  at  Tanana.  Drunkenness  and  debauchery- 
there  have  been  again  and  again,  but  they  have  been 
severely  checked  and  restrained  by  both  the  civil  and 
military  authorities. 

At  the  church  in  the  town  and  at  the  church  in  the 
village  we  spent  the  greater  part  of  Holy  Week  and 
Easter.  It  was  pleasant  to  see  so  many  of  the  enlisted 
men  of  the  garrison  taking  part  in  the  services  in  town; 
pleasant,  especially,  to  see  officers  and  men  singing  to- 
gether in  the  choir,  a  tribute  to  the  tact  and  zeal  of  the 
earnest  layman  in  charge  of  this  mission;  and  it  was 
pleasant  at  the  village  to  hear  the  native  liturgy  again 
and  to  see  old  men  and  women  following  the  lessons  in 
the  native  Bible. 

Fort  Egbert  is  abandoned  now,  another  addition  to 
the  melancholy  of  the  Yukon ;  its  extensive  buildings,  bar- 
racks, and  officers'  quarters,  post-exchange  and  commis- 
sariat, hospital,  sawmill,  and  artisans'  shops,  a  spacious, 
complete  gymnasium  only  recently  built,  are  all  vacant 
and  deserted.  In  the  yards  lie  three  thousand  cords  of 
dry  wood,  a  year's  supply;  cut  on  the  hills,  awaiting  the 
expected  annual  contracts,  lie  as  many  more — six  thou- 
sand cords  of  wood  left  to  rot !  Some  of  us  perverse  "  con- 
servationists," upon  whom  the  unanimous  Alaskan  press 
delights  to  pour  scorn,  lament  the  trees  more  than  the 
troops. 

One  may  write  thus  and  yet  have  many  pleasant  per- 


FORT  EGBERT  ABANDONED      287 

sonal  associations  with  the  post  and  those  who  have  Uved 
there.  A  large  and  varied  miUtary  acquaintanceship  is 
acquired  by  regular  visits  to  these  Alaskan  forts,  for  the 
whole  command  changes  every  two  years.  If  one  stayed 
in  the  country  long  enough  one  would  get  to  know  the 
whole  United  States  army,  as  regiment  after  regiment 
spent  its  brief  term  of  "foreign  service"  in  the  North. 
Gazing  upon  the  empty  quarters,  the  occasion  of  my 
first  visit  came  back  vividly,  when  there  was  diphtheria 
amongst  the  natives  at  Circle  and  none  to  cope  with  it 
save  the  missionary  nurse.  The  civil  codes  containing 
no  provision  for  quarantine,  the  United  States  commis- 
sioner at  Circle  could  not  help,  and  the  Indians  grew 
restive  and  rebellious,  and  when  Christmas  came  broke 
through  the  restrictions  completely.  Even  some  of  the 
whites  of  the  place  defied  her  prohibition  and  attended 
native  dances  and  encouraged  the  Indians  in  their  self- 
willed  folly. 

So  I  went  up  the  week's  journey  to  Eagle  and  sought 
assistance  from  Major  Plummer,  the  officer  commanding 
the  post,  who,  after  telegraphing  to  Washington,  promptly 
despatched  a  hospital  steward  and  a  couple  of  soldiers, 
and  placed  them  entirely  at  the  nurse's  disposal.  "I 
don't  think  we  have  any  law  for  it,"  he  said,  "but  we'll 
bluff  it  out."  And  bluff  it  out  they  did  very  effectively 
until  the  disease  was  stamped  out,  and  then  they  thor- 
oughly disinfected  and  whitewashed  every  cabin  that 
had  been  occupied  by  the  sick.  I  used  to  tell  that 
nurse  that,  so  far  as  I  knew,  she  was  the  only  woman 
who  had  ever  had  command  of  United  States  soldiers. 


288    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

Then  there  was  Captain  Langdon  of  the  same  regi- 
ment, the  scholarly  soldier,  with  the  account  of  every 
great  campaign  in  history  at  his  fingers'  ends.  I  recollect 
one  evening,  when  we  had  been  talking  of  the  Peninsular 
War,  I  ventured  to  spring  on  him  the  ancient  schoolboy 
conundrum:  "What  lines  are  those,  the  most  famous  ever 
made  by  an  Englishman,  yet  that  are  never  quoted?" 
''Lines?"  said  he,  ''lines?"  though  I  don't  think  he  had 
ever  heard  the  jest.  "They  must  be  the  Lines  of  Torres 
Vedras."  How  well  I  remember  the  musical  box  that 
used  to  arouse  me  at  seven  in  the  morning,  however 
late  we  had  sat  talking  the  night  before ! 

And  that  young  lieutenant,  of  wealthy  New  York 
people,  just  arrived  from  West  Point,  who  was  sent  by 
another  commandant  to  report  upon  the  condition  of  the 
natives  at  the  village  and  who  came  back  and  reported 
the  whole  population  in  utter  destitution  and  recom- 
mended the  issue  of  free  rations  to  them  all !  As  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  during  the  administration  of  this  command- 
ing officer,  some  sixteen  or  eighteen  persons  were  put 
upon  the  list  for  gratuitous  grub,  and  it  took  a  written 
protest  to  get  them  off.  For  no  one  who  has  the  welfare 
of  the  natives  at  heart  can  tolerate  the  notion  of  making 
them  paupers ;  these  who  have  always  fended  abundantly 
for  themselves,  and  can  entirely  do  so  yet.  With  free 
rations  there  would  be  no  more  hunting,  no  more  trap- 
ping, no  more  fishing;  and  a  hardy,  self-supporting  race 
would  sink  at  once  to  sloth  and  beggary  and  forget  all 
that  made  men  of  them.  If  it  were  designed  to  destroy 
the  Indian  at  a  blow,  here  is  an  easy  way  to  do  it.     Yet 


SOME  ARMY  OFFICERS  289 

there  are  some,  obsessed  with  the  craze  about  what  is 
called  education,  regarding  it  as  an  end  in  itself  and  not 
as  a  means  to  any  end,  who  recommend  this  pauperising 
because  it  would  permit  the  execution  of  a  compulsory 
school-attendance  law.  Or  is  it  a  personal  delusion  of 
mine  that  esteems  an  honest,  industrious,  self-support- 
ing Indian  who  cannot  read  and  write  English  above 
one  who  can  read  and  write  English — and  can  do  nothing 
else — and  so  separates  me  from  many  who  are  working 
amongst  the  natives? 

These  days  at  the  end  of  March,  when  the  sun  shines 
more  than  twelve  hours  in  the  twenty-four,  are  too  long 
for  the  ordinary  winter  day's  twenty-five  miles  or  so,  and 
yet  not  quite  long  enough,  even  if  man  and  dogs  could 
stand  it,  to  double  the  stage ;  so  that  there  is  much  day- 
light leisure  at  road-houses.  One  grows  anxious,  after 
four  months  on  the  trail,  to  be  done  with  it;  to  draw  as 
quickly  as  may  be  to  one's  "thawing-out"  place.  One 
even  becomes  a  little  impatient  of  the  continual  dog 
talk  and  mining  talk  of  the  road-houses,  to  which  one 
has  listened  all  the  winter.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
travelling  is  very  pleasant  and  the  going  usually  very 
good,  so  that  one  may  often  ride  on  the  sled  for  long 
stretches. 

By  river  and  portage — one  portage  that  comes  so  finely 
down  to  the  Yukon  from  a  bench  that  there  is  pleasure  in 
anticipating  the  view  it  affords — in  two  days  we  reached 
the  Nation  road-house,  just  below  the  mouth  of  the  Nation 
River,  a  name  that  has  always  puzzled  me.  Here  all  night 
long  the  wolves  howling  around  the  carcass  of  a  horse  kept 


290    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

our  dogs  awake,  and  the  whimpering  of  the  dogs  kept  us 
awake.  The  country  beyond  the  Yukon  to  the  northeast, 
the  large  area  included  between  the  Yukon  and  the  Por- 
cupine, into  which  the  Nation  River  offers  passage,  is 
one  of  the  wildest  and  least  known  portions  of  Alaska, 
abounding  in  game  and  beasts  of  prey. 

At  the  Charley  River  we  visited  the  native  village  and 
held  service  and  instruction  as  well  as  inadequate  inter- 
pretation permitted.  Round  Coal  Creek  and  Wood- 
chopper  Creek  the  scenery  becomes  bold  and  attractive, 
but  we  found,  as  usual,  that  as  we  pushed  farther  and 
farther  down  the  river  the  snow  was  deeper  and  the  going 
not  so  good.  The  sun  grows  very  bright  upon  the  snow 
these  days  of  late  March  and  early  April.  Even  through 
heavily  tinted  glasses  it  inflames  the  eyes  more  or  less, 
and  a  couple  of  hours  without  protection  would  bring 
snow-blindness.  Bright  days  at  this  season  are  the  only 
days  in  all  the  year  when  the  camera  shutter  may  be 
used  at  its  full  speed.  When  the  sun  comes  out  after  a 
flurry  of  new  snow  in  April,  the  light  is  many  times 
greater  than  in  midsummer. 

We  reached  Circle  in  a  day  and  a  half  from  Wood- 
chopper  Creek,  in  time  to  spend  Sunday  there.  Circle 
had  not  changed  much  in  the  five  years  that  had  elapsed 
since  the  first  visit  to  it  mentioned  in  these  pages.  The 
slender  trellis  of  the  wireless  telegraph  had  added  a  prom- 
inent feature  to  its  river  bank;  a  few  more  empty  cabins 
had  been  torn  down  for  fire-wood.  Here  it  was  necessary 
to  shoot  the  Great  Dane  pup  we  got  at  the  Salchaket. 
His  feet  were  still  very  sore  and  he  quite  useless  for  the 


THE  GLARE  OF  THE  SUN  291 

next  winter,  while  Doc  was  returned  to  me  from  Fair- 
banks, not  much  the  worse  for  his  severe  frost-bite. 
Indian  after  Indian  begged  for  the  dog,  but  I  had  more 
regard  for  him  than  to  turn  him  over  to  the  tender 
mercies  of  an  Indian.  There  are  exceptional  Indians,  but 
for  rny  part  I  would  rather  be  a  dead  dog  than  an  or- 
dinary Indian's  dog — so  he  died. 

There  remained  the  seventy-five  or  eighty  miles 
through  the  Yukon  Flats  to  Fort  Yukon — always  the 
most  dangerous  stretch  of  the  river,  and  at  this  season, 
when  the  winter's  trail  was  beginning  to  break  up,  par- 
ticularly so.  It  would  be  entirely  practicable  to  cut  a 
land  trail  that  should  not  touch  the  river  at  all,  or 
not  at  more  than  one  point,  between  Circle  and  Fort 
Yukon,  and  such  a  portage  besides  removing  all  the  dan- 
ger would  save  perhaps  twenty  miles.  In  many  places 
it  was  necessary  for  one  of  us  to  go  ahead  with  an  axe, 
constantly  sounding  and  testing  the  ice.  Here  and  there 
we  made  a  circuit  around  open  water  into  which  the  ice 
that  bore  the  trail  had  collapsed  bodily — one  of  them  a 
particularly  ugly  place,  with  black  water  twenty  feet 
deep  running  at  six  or  seven  miles  an  hour.  I  never  pass 
this  stretch  of  river  without  a  feeling  of  gratitude  that 
I  am  safely  over  it  once  more. 

As  we  left  the  Halfway  Island  we  passed  an  Indian 
from  Fort  Yukon  going  up  the  river  with  dogs  and  to- 
boggan, and  I  chuckled,  as  I  returned  his  very  polite 
salutation  and  shook  hands  with  him,  at  the  success  of 
the  way  he  had  been  dealt  with  the  previous  fall,  for  he 
had  been  a  particularly  churlish  fellow  with  an  insolent 


292    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

manner.  Six  or  seven  years  before  he  had  been  taken 
by  Captain  Amundsen,  of  the  Gjoa,  as  guide  along  this 
stretch  of  the  river.  It  will  be  remembered  that  when 
that  skilful  and  fortunate  navigator  had  reached  Herschell 
Island  from  the  east,  he  left  his  ship  in  winter  quarters 
and  made  a  rapid  journey  with  Esquimaux  across  country 
to  Fort  Yukon  expecting  to  find  a  telegraph  station  there 
from  which  he  could  send  word  of  his  success.  But  to  his 
disappointment  he  found  it  necessary  to  go  two  hundred 
and  thirty  miles  farther  up  the  river  to  Eagle,  before  he 
could  despatch  his  message.  So  he  left  his  Esquimaux 
at  Fort  Yukon  and  took  this  Indian  as  guide.  And  in  his 
modest  and  most  interesting  book  he  mentions  the  man's 
surliness  and  says  he  was  glad  to  get  rid  of  him  at  Circle. 
Some  new  outbreak  of  insolence  for  which  he  had  been 
flung  out  of  a  store  decided  that  he  must  be  dealt  with, 
and  I  sent  for  him,  for  the  chief,  the  native  minister,  and 
the  interpreter.  With  these  assessors  beside  me,  and 
Captain  Amundsen's  book  open  on  the  table,  I  spoke 
to  the  men  of  his  general  conduct  and  reputation.  I 
read  the  derogatory  remark  about  him  in  the  book 
"printed  for  all  the  world  to  read,"  and  told  him  that 
of  all  the  people,  white  and  native,  the  captain  had 
met  on  his  journeys,  only  one  was  spoken  of  harshly 
and  he  was  the  one.  It  made  a  great  impression  on  the 
man.  The  chief  and  the  native  minister  followed  it  up 
with  their  harangues,  and  the  net  result  was  a  thorough 
change  in  his  whole  attitude  and  demeanour.  He  told 
us  he  felt  the  shame  of  being  held  up  to  the  world  as  rude 
and  impudent  and  would  try  to  amend.     He  has  tried  so 


wm^;^'  ""I 


#%^ 


4'' 


CAPTAIN  AMUNDSEN  293 

successfully  that  he  Is  now  one  of  the  politest  and  most 
courteous  Indians  in  the  village,  for  which,  if  this  should 
ever  chance  to  reach  Captain  Amundsen's  eye,  I  trust 
he  will  accept  our  thanks. 

Fort  Yukon,  where  the  headquarters  of  the  arch- 
deaconry of  the  Yukon  are  now  fixed,  grows  in  native 
population  and  importance.  A  new  and  sightly  church, 
a  new  schoolhouse,  a  new  two-story  mission  house,  a  med- 
ical missionary  and  a  nurse  in  residence,  as  well  as  a  na- 
tive clergyman,  mark  the  Indian  metropolis  of  this  region 
and  perhaps  of  all  interior  Alaska.  Self-government  is 
fostered  amongst  the  people  by  a  village  council  elected 
annually,  that  settles  native  troubles  and  disputes  and 
takes  charge  of  movements  for  the  general  good,  and  of 
the  relief  of  native  poverty.  The  resident  physician  has 
been  appointed  justice  of  the  peace  and  there  is  effort  to 
enforce  the  law  of  the  land  at  a  place  where  every  man 
has  been  a  law  unto  himself.  But  it  is  a  very  slow  and 
difficult  matter  to  enforce  law  in  this  country  at  all,  and 
more  particularly  at  these  remote  points;  and  the  class  of 
white  men  who  are  to  be  found  around  native  villages, 
many  of  whom  "fear  not  God  neither  regard  man," 
pursue  their  debauchery  and  deviltry  long  time  un- 
whipped. 


CHAPTER  X 

FROM  THE  TANANA  RIVER  TO  THE  KUSKOKWIM— THENCE  TO 

THE  IDITEROD  MINING  CAMP— THENCE  TO  THE  YUKON, 

AND  UP  THAT  RIVER  TO  FORT  YUKON 

The  discovery  of  gold  on  the  Innoko  in  the  winter  of 
1906-7,  and  the  "strike"  on  the  Iditerod,  a  tributary  of 
the  Innoko,  some  three  years  later,  opened  up  a  new 
region  of  Alaska.  It  is  characteristic  of  a  gold  discovery 
in  a  new  district  that  it  sets  men  feverishly  to  work  pros- 
pecting all  the  adjacent  country,  and  sends  them  as  far 
afield  from  it  as  the  new  base  of  supplies  will  allow  them 
to  stretch  their  tether.  A  glance  at  the  map  will  show 
that  the  Innoko  and  Iditerod  country  lies  between  the 
two  great  rivers  of  Alaska,  the  Yukon  and  the  Kusko- 
kwim,  much  lower  down  the  Yukon  than  any  of  the  earlier 
gold  discoveries;  that  is  to  say  that  while  the  Tanana 
gold  fields  lie  off  the  Middle  Yukon,  the  Circle  fields  off 
the  upper  Yukon,  the  Iditerod  camp  belongs  to  the 
lower  river.  The  Innoko  workings  were  not  extensive 
nor  very  rich,  but  they  furnished  a  base  for  prospecting 
from  which  the  Iditerod  was  reached,  and  Flat  Creek,  in 
the  latter  district,  promised  to  be  wonderfully  rich. 
Immediately  upon  the  news  of  this  strike  reaching  the 
other  camps  of  the  interior,  preparations  were  made  far 

and   wide   for  migrating  thither   upon   the  opening  of 

294 


CAMP  AT  50°   BELOW  295 

Yukon  navigation,  and  the  early  summer  of  1910  saw  a 
wild  stampede  to  the  Iditerod.  Saloon-keepers,  store- 
keepers, traders  of  all  kinds,  and  the  rag-tag  and  bobtail 
that  always  flock  to  a  new  camp  were  on  the  move 
so  soon  as  the  ice  went  out.  From  Dawson,  from  the 
Fortymile,  from  Circle,  from  Fairbanks,  from  the  Koyu- 
kuk,  and  as  soon  as  Bering  Sea  permitted,  from  Nome, 
all  sorts  of  craft  bore  all  sorts  of  people  to  the  new 
Eldorado,  while  the  first  through  steamboats  from  the 
outside  were  crowded  with  people  from  the  Pacific  coast 
eager  to  share  in  the  opportunity  of  wealth.  The  sensa- 
tional magazines  had  been  printing  article  after  article 
about  "The  incalculable  riches  of  Alaska,"  and  here  were 
people  hoping  to  pick  some  of  it  up.  Iditerod  City 
sprang  into  life  as  the  largest  "city"  of  the  interior;  the 
centre  of  gravity  of  the  population  of  the  interior  of 
Alaska  was  shifted  a  thousand  miles  in  a  month. 

Iditerod  City  furnished  a  new  and  large  base  of  sup- 
plies. Amidst  the  heterogeneous  mass  of  humanity  that 
swarmed  into  the  place,  though  by  no  means  the  largest 
element  in  it,  were  experienced  prospectors  from  every 
other  district  in  Alaska.  Under  the  iniquitous  law  that 
then  prevailed  and  has  only  recently  been  modified,  by 
which  there  was  no  limit  at  all  to  the  number  of  claims  in 
a  district  which  one  man  could  stake  for  himself  and 
others,  every  creek  adjacent  to  Flat  Creek,  every  creek 
for  many  miles  in  every  direction,  had  long  since  been  tied 
up  by  the  men  with  lead-pencils  and  hatchets.  So  the 
newly  arrived  prospectors  must  spread  out  yet  wider,  and 
they  were  soon  scattered  over  all  the  rugged  hundred 


296    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

miles  between  Iditerod  City  and  the  Kuskokwim  River. 
Here  and  there  they  found  prospects;  and  here  and  there 
what  promised  to  be  "pay."  They  started  a  new  town, 
Georgetown,  on  the  Kuskokwim  itself;  another  town 
sprang  up  on  the  Takotna,  a  tributary  of  the  Kuskokwim; 
and  the  great  Commercial  Company  of  Alaska,  ever  alert 
for  new  developments,  put  a  steamboat  on  the  Kusko- 
kwim and  built  trading-posts  at  both  these  points.  Thus 
the  Kuskokwim  country,  which  for  long  had  been  one  of 
the  least-known  portions  of  Alaska,  was  opened  up  almost 
at  a  stroke. 

It  was  my  purpose  to  visit  Iditerod  City  during  the 
winter  of  1910-11,  although,  by  reason  of  the  distance  to 
be  travelled,  a  journey  thither  would  involve  the  omission 
of  the  customary  winter  visit  to  upper  Yukon  points. 
When  the  northern  trip  to  the  Koyukuk  was  returned 
from  at  Tanana,  a  sad  journey  had  to  be  made  to  Nenana 
to  bury  the  body  of  Miss  Farthing,  and  Doctor  Loomis, 
missionary  physician  at  Tanana,  who  accompanied  me 
on  this  errand,  had  almost  as  rough  a  breaking-in  to  the 
Alaska  trail  as  we  came  back  to  Tanana  again  as  Doctor 
Burke  had  in  our  journey  over  the  "first  ice"  of  the 
Koyukuk  two  years  before.  Two  feet  of  new  snow  lay 
on  the  trail,  and  the  thermometer  went  down  to  60° 
below  zero.  We  were  camped  once  on  the  mail  trail, 
unable  to  reach  a  road-house,  at  50°  below  zero. 

From  Tanana  the  beaten  track  to  the  Iditerod  lay 
one  hundred  and  sixty  miles  down  the  Yukon  to  Lewis's 
Landing,  and  then  across  country  by  the  Lewis  Cut-Off 
one  hundred  miles  to  Dishkaket  on  the  Innoko,  and  thence 


a  K 


O  O 
Q 

a  « 

<:  =: 


s  9 


THE   ROUTE  TO  THE  IDITEROD  297 

across  country  another  hundred  miles  to  Iditerod  City. 
But  I  designed  to  penetrate  to  the  Iditerod  by  another 
route.  I  had  long  desired  to  visit  Lake  Minchumina  and 
its  httle  band  of  Indians,  and  to  pass  through  the  upper 
Kuskokwim  country.  So  I  had  engaged  a  Minchumina 
Indian  as  a  guide,  and  laid  my  course  up  the  Tanana 
River  to  the  Coschaket,  and  then  due  south  across  coun- 
try to  Lake  Minchumina  and  the  upper  Kuskokwim. 

The  Cosna  is  a  small  streamconfluent  withthe  Tanana, 
about  thirty  miles  above  the  mouth  of  that  river,  and  we 
had  hoped  to  reach  it  by  the  river  trail  upon  the  same 
day  we  left  the  mission  at  Tanana,  the  i8th  of  February, 
191 1.  But  the  trail  was  too  heavy  and  the  going  too 
slow  and  the  start  too  late.  When  we  had  reached  Fish 
Creek,  about  half-way,  it  was  already  growing  dark,  and 
we  were  glad  to  stop  in  a  native  cabin,  where  was  an  old 
widow  woman  with  a  blind  daughter.  The  daughter, 
unmarried,  had  a  little  baby,  and  I  inquired  through 
Walter  who  was  the  father  and  whether  the  girl  had 
willingly  received  the  man  or  if  he  had  taken  advantage 
of  her  blindness.  She  named  an  unmarried  Indian, 
known  to  me,  and  declared  that  she  had  not  been  con- 
senting. It  seemed  a  pretty  paltry  and  contemptible 
trick  to  take  advantage  of  a  fatherless  blind  girl.  I 
baptized  the  baby  and  resolved  to  make  the  man  marry 
the  girl. 

The  next  night  we  reached  the  Coschaket,  which, 
following  the  Indian  rule,  means  "mouth  of  the  Cosna," 
and  found  that  our  guide,  Minchumina  John,  had  already 
relayed  a  load  of  grub  that  Walter  had  previously  brought 


298    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

here  from  Tanana,  one  day's  march  upon  our  journey. 
Our  course  from  the  Coschaket  left  the  Tanana  River 
and  struck  across  country  by  an  old  Indian  trail  that  had 
not  been  used  that  winter.  Through  scrubby  spruce  and 
over  frozen  lakes  and  swamps,  crossing  the  Cosna  several 
times — a  narrow  little  river  with  high  steep  banks — the 
trail  went,  until  it  brought  us  to  a  hunting  camp  of 
the  Indians,  about  eighteen  miles  from  the  Coschaket. 
Here  our  stuff  was  cached  and  here  we  spent  the  night, 
doctoring  the  sick  amongst  them  as  well  as  we  could. 
My  eyes  had  been  sorely  tried  this  day  despite  dark 
smoked  glasses,  for  we  were  travelling  almost  due  south, 
and  the  sun  was  now  some  hours  in  the  sky  and  yet  low 
enough  to  shine  right  in  one's  face.  So  Walter  stopped 
at  a  birch-tree,  stripped  some  of  the  bark,  and  made  an 
eye-shade  that  was  a  great  comfort  and  relief. 

From  this  place  began  the  slow  work  of  double-trip- 
ping. The  unbroken  snow  was  too  deep  to  permit  the 
hauling  of  our  increased  load  over  it  without  a  prelimi- 
nary breaking  out  of  a  trail  on  snow-shoes.  So  camp  was 
left  standing  and  Walter  and  John  went  ahead  all  day 
and  returned  late  at  night  with  eight  or  nine  miles  of 
trail  broken,  while  I  stayed  in  camp  and  had  dog  feed 
cooked  and  supper  ready.  The  next  day  we  advanced 
the  camp  so  far  as  the  trail  was  broken.  A  moose  had 
used  the  trail  for  some  distance,  however,  since  the  boys 
left  it,  and  his  great  plunging  hoofs  had  torn  up  the  snow 
worse  than  a  horse  would  have  done. 

A  driving  wind  and  heavy  snowfall  had  drifted  the 
new  trail  in  the  night  so  badly,  moreover,  that  we  were 


THE  CAMP-ROBBERS  299 

not  able  tocover  the  full  stretchthat  had  been  snow-shoed, 
but  camped  in  the  dusk  after  we  had  gone  eight  miles. 
Eight  miles  in  two  days  was  certainly  very  poor  travel, 
and  at  this  rate  our  supplies  would  never  take  us  down 
to  the  forks  of  the  Kuskokwim.  Yet  there  was  no  other 
way  in  which  we  could  proceed.  The  weather  was  ex- 
ceedingly mild,  too  mild  for  comfort — the  thermometer 
ranging  from  20°  to  25°  above — and  the  dogs  felt  the  un- 
seasonable warmth.  It  took  us  all  that  week  to  make 
the  watershed  between  the  drainage  of  the  Tanana  and 
the  drainage  of  the  Kuskokwim,  a  point  about  half-way 
to  Lake  Minchumina.  One  day  trail  was  broken,  the 
next  day  the  loads  went  forward.  Tie  the  dogs  as  securely 
as  one  would,  it  was  not  safe  to  go  off  and  leave  our  sup- 
plies exposed  to  the  ravages  that  a  broken  chain  or  a 
slipped  collar  might  bring,  so  two  went  forward  and  I  sat 
down  in  camp.  The  boys  on  their  return  usually  brought 
with  them  a  few  brace  of  ptarmigan  or  grouse  or  spruce 
hen  or,  at  the  least,  a  rabbit  or  so. 

The  camp-robbers,  to  my  mind  the  most  interesting 
of  Alaskan  birds,  became  very  friendly  and  tame  on  these 
vigils.  They  stay  in  the  country  all  the  winter,  when 
most  birds  have  migrated,  like  prosperous  mine  owners, 
to  less  rigorous  climates;  they  turn  up  everywhere,  in 
the  most  mysterious  way,  so  soon  as  one  begins  to  make 
any  preparation  for  camping,  and  they  are  bold  and 
fearless  and  take  all  sorts  of  chances.  On  this  journey 
more  than  once  they  alighted  on  a  moving  sled  and 
pecked  at  the  dried  fish  that  happened  to  be  exposed. 
Yet  they  are  so  alert  and  so  quick  in  their  movements 


300    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

that  it  would  be  difficult  to  catch  them  were  they  actually 
under  one's  hand.  One  of  them,  during  a  long  day  in 
camp,  grew  so  tame  that  it  pecked  crumbs  off  the  toe  of 
my  moccasin,  and  in  another  day  or  two  would,  one  feels 
sure,  have  eaten  out  of  the  hand.  There  is  a  curious 
belief,  strongly  intrenched  in  the  Alaskan  mind,  that  the 
nest  of  this  most  common  bird  has  never  been  found,  and 
that  the  Smithsonian  Institution  has  a  standing  offer  of  a 
large  sum  of  money  for  the  discovery.  They  build  in  the 
spruce-trees,  ten  or  twelve  feet  above  the  ground,  a  nest 
of  rough  twigs,  and  lay  five  very  small  eggs,  grey  spotted 
with  black.  This,  at  any  rate,  is  the  description  that 
Walter  gives  me  of  a  nest  he  discovered  with  the  bird 
sitting  upon  it,  and  I  have  found  the  boy's  accounts  of 
such  matters  entirely  trustworthy.  It  is  curious,  how- 
ever, that  the  nest  of  a  bird  so  common  all  over  Alaska 
as  the  camp-robber  should  be  so  rarely  found.  At  times 
they  are  very  mischievous  and  destructive,  and  the  man 
who  builds  a  careless  cache  will  often  be  heard  denouncing 
them,  but  to  my  mind  a  bird  who  gives  us  his  enlivening 
company  throughout  the  dead  of  an  Alaskan  winter  de- 
serves what  pickings  he  can  get. 

On  Saturday,  the  25th  of  February,  after  climbing  a 
rather  stiff  hill,  we  passed  temporarily  out  of  Yukon  into 
Kuskokwim  waters,  for  the  tributaries  of  these  two  great 
drainage  systems  interlock  in  these  hills.  At  the  foot  of 
the  hill  we  stopped  for  lunch,  a  roaring  fire  was  soon  built, 
and  a  great  cube  of  beaten  snow  impaled  upon  a  stake 
was  set  up  before  the  fire  to  drip  into  a  pan  for  tea  water, 
while  the  boys  roasted  rabbits.     In  a  few  hours  more  we 


SOFT  WEATHER  301 

were  on  the  banks  of  one  of  the  tributaries  of  the  East 
Fork  (properly  the  North  Fork)  of  the  Kuskokwim. 
Here,  in  an  unoccupied  native  cabin,  we  made  our  camp 
and  lay  over  Sunday,  and  here  began  the  most  remarkable 
spell  of  weather  I  have  known  in  the  interior  at  this  sea- 
son of  the  year.  The  thermometer  rose  to  37°  and  then  to 
40°;  the  snow  everywhere  was  thawing,  and  presently  it 
began  to  rain  steadily.  It  was  the  first  time  I  had  seen  a 
decided  thaw  in  February,  let  alone  rain. 

Next  day  the  rain  turned  to  snow,  but  since  the  ther- 
mometer still  stood  around  40°,  the  snow  melted  as  it  fell, 
and  we  were  wet  through  all  day.  The  snow  underfoot, 
however,  was  so  much  less  and  so  much  harder  that  we 
were  able  to  proceed  without  preliminary  trail  breaking. 
But  it  was  a  most  disagreeable  day  and  the  prelude  to 
a  more  disagreeable  night.  Soft,  wet  snow  clings  to  every- 
thing it  touches.  The  dogs  are  soon  carrying  an  addi- 
tional burden;  balls  of  snow  form  on  all  projecting  tufts 
of  hair;  masses  of  snow  must  continually  be  beaten  off 
the  sled.  Every  time  a  snow-shoe  is  lifted  from  the 
ground  it  lifts  a  few  pounds  of  snow  with  it.  One's 
moccasins  and  socks  are  soon  wet  through,  and  the  feet, 
encased  in  this  sodden  cold  covering,  grow  numb  and 
stay  so.  We  crossed  a  considerable  mountain  pass  in 
driving  snow,  and  should  never  have  found  the  way  with- 
out John,  for  much  of  it  was  above  timber,  and  when  it 
took  us  through  woods  the  blazes  on  the  trees  were  so 
bleached  with  age  as  to  be  difficult  of  recognition.  The 
Indians  have  used  this  trail  for  generations;  but  few 
white  men  have  ever  passed  along  it. 


302    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

Wet  snow,  wet  spruce  boughs,  wet  tent,  wet  wood,  wet 
clothing  make  poor  camping.  Waterproof  equipment  is 
so  rarely  needed  on  the  winter  trail  that  one  does  not 
bother  with  it.  But  the  cHmate  of  the  Kuskokwim  valley 
is  evidently  different  from  that  of  the  rest  of  the  interior, 
if,  as  John  said,  such  weather  is  not  remarkable  in  these 
parts  at  this  season.  A  third  day  was  of  much  the  same 
description;  thawing  and  heavily  snowing  all  day,  the 
thermometer  between  36°  and  40°.  The  labour  of  going 
ahead  of  the  teams  and  breaking  trail,  on  the  snow-shoes, 
through  slush,  grew  so  great  that  I  relinquished  it  to  John 
and  took  the  handle-bars  of  his  sled.  We  were  approach- 
ing Lake  Minchumina,  but  the  hills  that  led  us  into 
Yukon  waters  once  more  and  should  have  given  us  views 
of  the  lake  and  the  great  mountains  beyond  gave  noth- 
ing. It  is  a  keen  disappointment  to  be  utterly  denied 
great  views,  the  expectation  of  which  has  been  a  support 
through  long  distances  and  fatigues. 

At  noon  we  built  a  fire  with  considerable  difficulty, 
but  once  it  was  started  we  plied  it  with  fuel  till  we  had  a 
noble,  roaring  bonfire,  and  we  hung  our  wet  socks  and 
moccasins  and  parkees  and  caps  and  mitts  around  it  and 
stayed  there  until  they  were  dry,  though  the  resumption 
of  our  journey  in  the  continuous  melting  snow  soon  wet 
everything  through  again. 

At  length,  late  in  the  evening  of  the  28th  of  February, 
we  descended  a  long  ridge  and  came  upon  the  north- 
eastern shore  of  Lake  Minchumina,  one  of  the  most  con- 
siderable lakes  of  interior  Alaska.  It  stretched  its  broad 
expanse  away  into  the  misty  distance,  the  farther  shore 


LAKE  MINCHUMINA  303 

quite  invisible,  the  snow  driving  slowly  over  it,  and  it 
looked  as  though  we  had  stumbled  by  mistake  upon  the 
shores  of  the  Arctic  Ocean.  There  was  no  sort  of  trail 
upon  it  and  the  snow-shoes  sank  through  the  melting 
snow  of  its  surface  into  the  water  that  lay  upon  the  ice 
and  brought  up  a  load  of  slush  at  every  step;  yet  the 
going  would  have  been  still  worse  without  them.  The 
recollection  of  the  six  miles  we  trudged  across  that  lake 
is  a  dismal  recollection  of  utter  fatigue,  of  mechanical 
lifting  and  falling  of  encumbered  feet  with  the  recurring 
feeling  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  lift  them  any  more. 
All  across  that  lake  I  ate  snow,  and  that  and  the  back- 
ache legacy  of  an  old  strain  are  my  signs  of  approaching 
exhaustion.  Four  hours  passed  ere  we  heard  the  noise 
of  dogs  and  saw  the  glimmer  of  a  light  through  the  dark- 
ness, and  the  hearts  of  men  and  beasts  alike  leaped  to  the 
expectation  of  rest  and  shelter.  We  had  feared  the  vil- 
lage might  be  deserted  and  were  rejoiced  that  the  Indians 
were  still  there. 

Never  was  hospitality  more  grateful  than  that  we  had 
from  the  little  remote  band  of  natives  at  the  Minchumina 
village.  They  made  a  pot  of  tea  and  fried  some  flap- 
jacks for  us,  and  that  was  our  supper,  though  I  think  the 
boys  ate  some  boiled  moose  meat  from  a  pot  on  the  stove. 
We  had  plenty  of  grub,  but  were  too  weary  to  cook  it; 
we  spread  our  bedding  down  on  the  floor  amongst  a  dozen 
others  and  fell  almost  at  once  into  a  deep  sleep.  Almost 
at  once;  for  the  arrival  of  our  eight  dogs  had  made  a 
commotion  amongst  the  canine  population  of  the  place, 
that  after  repeated  outbreaks  of  noisy  animosity  and 


304    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

defiance  seemed  to  turn  by  common  consent  into  a 
friendly  and  most  protracted  howling  contest  in  which 
my  malamute  "Muk"  plainly  outdid  all  competitors. 
How  much  longer  the  noise  would  have  kept  up  it  is  hard 
to  say — dogs  never  seem  too  tired  to  howl — but  when 
the  limit  of  Indian  patience  was  reached,  an  aged  crone 
rolled  out  of  the  bed  into  which  she  had  rolled  "  all  stand- 
ing," seized  a  staff  and  went  outdoors  to  lay  it  impar- 
tially upon  the  backs  of  all  the  disturbers  of  the  peace, 
domestic  and  foreign,  with  a  screech  that  was  as  formi- 
dable as  the  blov/s.     The  rest  was  silence. 

The  next  morning  a  dozen  alarm-clocks  went  off  within 
a  few  minutes  of  each  other.  Every  adult  in  that  cabin 
owned  a  separate  alarm-clock,  and  rose,  one  supposes, 
to  the  summons  of  no  other  timepiece.  At  any  rate,  the 
clocks  went  off  at  intervals,  and  the  natives  arose  one  by 
one  and  seemed  hugely  to  enjoy  the  clatter.  Let  one 
purchase  a  new  thing  and  every  individual  in  the  com- 
munity must  have  one  also. 

But  what  struck  me  instantly  upon  arising  was  the 
miraculous  transformation  that  had  taken  place  out- 
doors. The  sun  was  shining  brilliantly  through  a  clear 
sky!  I  hastened  to  dress  and,  not  waiting  for  breakfast, 
seized  my  camera  and  started  out.  The  chinook  was 
over;  the  sharp,  welcome  tang  of  frost  was  in  the  air;  the 
snow  was  hard  underfoot.  Out  upon  the  gleaming  sur- 
face of  the  lake  I  went  for  nigh  a  mile,  resolutely  refusing 
to  look  behind.  I  knew  what  vision  awaited  me  when  I 
turned  around,  had,  indeed,  caught  a  slight  glimpse  as  I 
left   the   cabin,  and  I   wanted   the   smooth,  open  fore- 


DENALI  AND  HIS  WIFE  305 

ground   of  the  lake  that   I   might   see   it  to  the  best 
advantage. 

There  is  probably  no  other  view  of  North  America's 
greatest  mountain  group  comparable  to  that  from  Lake 
Minchumina.  From  almost  every  other  coign  of  vantage 
in  the  interior  I  had  seen  it  and  found  it  more  or  less 
unsatisfying.  Only  from  distant  points  like  the  Pedro 
Dome  or  the  summit  between  Rampart  and  Glen  Gulch 
does  the  whole  mass  and  uplift  of  it  come  into  view  with 
dignity  and  impressiveness.  At  close  range  the  peaks 
seem  stunted  and  inconspicuous,  their  rounded,  retreat- 
ing slopes  lacking  strong  lines  and  decided  character. 
But  from  the  lake  the  precipitous  western  face  of  Denali 
and  Denali's  Wife  rise  sheer,  revealed  by  the  level  fore- 
ground of  the  snow  from  base  to  summit.  It  was,  indeed, 
a  glorious  scene.  There  stood  the  master  peak,  seeming 
a  stupendous  vertical  wall  of  rock  rising  twenty  thou- 
sand feet  to  a  splendid  sharp  crest  perhaps  some  forty  or 
fifty  miles  away;  there,  a  little  farther  to  the  south,  rose 
the  companion  mass,  a  smaller  but  still  enormous  eleva- 
tion of  equally  savage  inaccessibility;  while  between  them, 
near  the  base,  little  sharp  peaks  stretched  like  a  corridor 
of  ruined  arches  from  mass  to  mass.  One  was  struck  at 
once  by  the  simple  appropriateness  of  the  native  names 
for  these  mountains.  The  master  peak  is  Denali — the 
great  one;  the  lesser  peak  is  Denali's  Wife;  and  the  little 
peaks  between  are  the  children.  And  my  indignation 
kindled  at  the  substitution  of  modern  names  for  these 
ancient  mountain  names  bestowed  immemorially  by  the 
original  inhabitants  of  the  land!     Is  it  too  late  to  strike 


3o6    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

Mount  McKinley  and  Mount  Foraker  from  the  map? 
The  names  were  given  fifteen  or  sixteen  years  ago  only, 
by  one  who  saw  them  no  nearer  than  a  hundred  miles. 
Is  it  too  late  to  restore  the  native  names  contemptuously 
displaced? 

The  majesty  of  the  scene  grew  upon  me  as  I  gazed, 
and  presently  hand  went  to  camera  that  some  record  of 
it  might  be  attempted.  But  alas  for  the  limitations  of 
photography!  I  knew,  even  as  I  made  the  exposures, 
first  at  one  one-hundredth  of  a  second  and  then  at  one- 
fiftieth,  that  there  was  little  hope  of  securing  a  picture; 
the  air  was  yet  faintly  hazy  with  thin  vapour;  the  early 
sun  made  too  acute  an  angle  with  the  peaks;  and  the 
yellow  lens  screen  was  left  in  the  hind-sack  of  the  sled. 
It  was  even  as  I  feared.  When  developed  some  months 
later,  the  film  held  absolutely  no  trace  of  the  mighty 
mountains  that  had  risen  so  proudly  before  it.  I  prom- 
ised myself  that  at  noon,  when  the  sun  had  removed 
to  a  greater  distance  from  the  mountains  and  made  a 
more  favourable  angle  with  them,  I  would  return  and 
try  again;  but  by  noon  had  come  another  sudden,  vio- 
lent change  of  the  weather,  and  snow  was  falling  once 
more. 

So  I  got  no  picture,  save  the  picture  indelibly  im- 
pressed upon  my  memory,  of  the  noblest  mountain  scene 
I  had  ever  gazed  upon  which  made  memorable  this  ist 
of  March;  perhaps  one  of  the  noblest  mountain  scenes 
in  the  whole  world,  for  one  does  not  recall  another  so 
great  uplift  from  so  low  a  base.  The  marshy,  flat  coun- 
try that  stretches  from  Minchumina  to  the  mountains 


THE  MINCHUMINA  FOLK  307 

cannot  be  much  more  than  one  thousand  feet  above 
the  sea.  Those  awful  precipices  dropping  thousands  of 
feet  at  a  leap,  those  peaks  rising  serene  and  everlasting 
into  the  highest  heaven,  the  overwhelming  size  and 
strength  and  solidity  of  their  rocky  bulk,  all  this  sank 
into  my  heart,  and  there  sprang  up  once  again  the  pas- 
sionate desire  of  exploring  the  bowels  of  them,  of  creeping 
along  their  glaciers  and  up  their  icy  ridges,  of  penetrat- 
ing their  hidden  chambers,  inviolate  since  the  foundation 
of  the  world,  and  maybe  scaling  their  ultimate  summits 
and  looking  down  upon  all  the  earth  even  as  they  look 
down! 

Men,  however,  and  not  mountains,  made  the  im- 
mediate demand  upon  one's  interest  and  attention,  and 
I  returned  to  breakfast  and  the  duties  of  the  day.  The 
Minchumina  people  are  a  very  feeble  folk,  some  sixteen 
all  told  at  the  time  of  our  visit,  greatly  reduced  by  the 
epidemics  of  the  last  decade,  living  remote  from  all 
others  on  the  verge  of  their  race's  habitat.  They  trade 
chiefly  at  Tanana,  a  hundred  and  thirty  miles  or  so 
away,  walking  an  annual  trip  thither  with  their  furs, 
and  owning  a  nominal  allegiance  to  our  mission  at  that 
place.  It  was  the  first  time  that  any  clergyman  had  ever 
visited  them,  and  the  whole  of  the  day  was  spent  with 
them,  discovering  what  they  knew  and  trying  to  teach 
them  a  little  more.  The  people  sat  around  on  the  floor 
and  hung  upon  the  lips  of  the  interpreter.  But  what  a 
barrier  a  difference  of  language  is!  An  interpreter  is 
like  a  mountain  pass,  a  means  of  access  but  at  the  cost 
of  time  and  labour.     He  does  not  remove  the  obstruc- 


3o8    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

tion.  The  Minchumina  people  occupy  a  fine  country 
that  could  amply  support  ten  times  the  Indian  popula- 
tion that  now  inhabits  it.  We  were,  indeed,  now  enter- 
ing a  country  that  has  been  almost  depopulated  by 
successive  epidemics  of  contagious  diseases.  The  measles 
in  1900  slew  most  of  them,  and  diphtheria  in  1906  de- 
stroyed all  the  children  and  many  of  the  adults  that 
remained.  The  chief  of  this  little  band  wore  a  hat 
proudly  adorned  with  ribbons  and  plumes,  and  flew  a 
flag  before  his  dwelling  with  the  initials  of  the  North 
American  Trading  and  Transportation  Company  on  it 
— a  defunct  Alaskan  corporation.  We  could  not  learn 
the  origin  thereof;  the  flag  and  the  letters  were  plainly 
home-made.  It  was  probably  a  mere  imitation  of  a 
flag  he  had  seen  years  ago  at  Tanana,  copied  without 
knowledge  of  the  meaning  of  the  letters,  as  the  Esqui- 
maux often  copy  into  the  decoration  of  their  clothing 
and  equipment  the  legends  from  canned  foods. 

Lake  Minchumina  drains  by  a  fork  of  the  Kantishna 
River  into  the  Tanana  and  so  into  the  Yukon.  Just 
beyond  the  southwestern  edge  of  the  lake  runs  a  deep 
gully  for  perhaps  a  mile  that  leads  to  another  lake  called 
Tsormina,  which  drains  into  Minchumina.  And  just 
beyond  Tsormina  is  a  little  height  of  land,  on  the  other 
side  of  which  lies  Lake  Sishwoymina,  which  drains  into 
the  Kuskokwim.  So  that  little  height  of  land  is  another 
watershed  between  Alaska's  two  great  rivers.  Lakes 
Tsormina  and  Sishwoymina  are  not  on  any  maps;  in- 
deed, this  region  has  never  been  mapped  save  very  crudely 
from  the  distant  flanks  of  Denali  upon  one  of  Alfred 


TALIDA  309 

Brook's  early  bold  journeys  into  the  interior  of  Alaska  on 
behalf  of  the  Geological  Survey.  Although  the  Russians 
had  establishments  on  the  lower  Kuskokwim  seventy- 
five  years  ago,  and  the  river  is  the  second  largest  in 
Alaska  and  easy  of  navigation,  yet  the  white  man  had 
penetrated  very  little  into  this  country  until  the  Innoko 
and  Iditerod  "strikes"  of  1908  and  1909  respectively. 

It  was  our  plan  to  follow  the  main  valley  of  the  Kus- 
kokwim until  the  confluence  of  the  Takotna  with  that 
stream,  just  below  the  junction  of  the  main  North  and 
South  Forks  of  the  Kuskokwim,  and  then  strike  north- 
westward across  country  to  the  Iditerod. 

The  snow  had  passed  and  the  sun  was  bright  and  the 
thermometer  around  zero  all  day  when  we  left  Minchu- 
mina  to  pursue  our  journey.  The  welcome  change  in 
the  weather  had  brought  a  still  more  welcome  change  in 
travel.  The  decided  and  continued  thaw  followed  by 
sharp  cold  had  put  a  crust  on  the  snow  that  would  hold 
up  the  dogs  and  the  sled  and  a  man  on  small  trail  snow- 
shoes  anywhere.  Trail  making  was  no  longer  necessary, 
and  in  two  days  we  made  upward  of  fifty  miles.  So 
much  difference  does  surface  make. 

Across  the  end  of  Lake  Minchumina,  across  Tsormina 
and  Sishwoymina  and  a  number  of  lesser  lakes  we  went, 
following  a  faint  show-shoe  trail  towards  a  distant  moun- 
tain group  to  the  southwest,  the  Talida  Mountains,  at 
the  foot  of  which  lay  the  Talida  village.  On  the  other 
hand,  to  the  east  and  southeast,  we  had  tantalising 
glimpses  through  haze  and  cloud  of  the  two  great  moun- 
tains, and  presently  of  the  lesser  peaks  of  the  whole 


3IO    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

Alaskan  range,  sweeping  its  proud  curve  to  the  coast. 
For  a  long  way  on  the  second  day  we  travelled  on  the 
flat  top  of  a  narrow  ridge  that  must  surely  have  been  a 
lateral  moraine  of  a  glacier,  what  time  the  ice  poured 
down  from  the  heights  and  stretched  far  over  this  valley 
— then  through  scattered  timber,  increasing  in  size  and 
thickness  and  already  displaying  character  that  differed 
somewhat  from  the  familiar  forests  of  the  Yukon.  The 
show-shoe  trail  we  were  following  was  made  by  a  mes- 
senger despatched  by  the  Minchumina  people  to  invite  the 
Talida  people  to  a  potlatch;  for  the  caches  were  filled 
with  moose  meat  beyond  local  consumption.  Early  on 
the  second  day  we  met  him  returning  and  learned  that  he 
had  gone  on  to  yet  another  village  a  day's  journey  far- 
ther, still  on  our  route. 

The  people  were  all  gone  hunting  from  the  tiny  native 
hamlet  of  Talida,  but  we  entered  a  cabin  and  made  our- 
selves at  home.  We  had  passed  into  the  region  where 
the  Greek  Church  holds  nominal  sway,  of  which  the  icons 
with  little  candles  before  them  on  the  walls  gave  token. 
No  priest  ever  visits  them,  but  a  native  at  a  village  on 
the  south  fork  where  is  a  church  holds  some  position 
analogous  to  that  of  a  lay  reader.  The  nearest  priest  is 
a  half-breed,  ill  spoken  of  for  irregularity  of  life,  some 
two  hundred  miles  farther  down  the  river.  The  Greek 
Church  is  relaxing  its  hold  in  Alaska,  perhaps  inevitably, 
and  suffers  sadly  since  the  removal  of  the  bishop  from 
Sitka  from  lack  of  supervision.  Also  we  had  passed  out 
of  Indian  country  into  the  land  of  the  Esquimaux,  for 
these  people,  far  up  towards  the  head  of  the  river  as  they 


MEASLES  AND   DIPHTHERIA  311 

were,  had  yet  come  at  some  period  from  the  mouth.  We 
were  out  of  Walter's  language  range  now,  and  were  glad 
that  the  bilingual  John  of  the  march  country  was  with 
us  to  serve  as  interpreter. 

Standing  proudly  up  against  the  wall  in  one  corner 
of  the  cabin  was  a  rather  pathetic  object  to  my  eyes — an 
elaborate  gilt-handled  silk  umbrella.  There  needed  no 
one  to  tell  its  story;  it  spoke  of  a  visit  to  the  Yukon  with 
furs  to  sell  and  the  usual  foolish  purchase  of  gay  and 
glittering  trash — novel  and  quite  useless.  What  easy 
prey  these  poor  people  are  to  the  wiles  of  the  trader! 
Said  one  of  them  to  me  recently,  when  I  asked  the  pur- 
pose of  an  *' annex"  to  his  store  with  a  huge  billiard-table 
in  it — at  an  exclusive  native  village — "It's  to  get  their 
money;  there's  no  use  trying  to  fool  you;  if  we  can't  get 
it  one  way  we've  got  to  get  it  another."  This  gorgeous 
silk  umbrella  was  concrete  expression  of  the  same  senti- 
ment. It  was  bought  outside,  it  was  brought  into  the 
country,  it  was  set  on  exhibition  in  the  store,  because 
some  trader  judged  it  likely  to  attract  a  native  eye.  No 
one,  white  or  native,  uses  an  umbrella  in  interior  Alaska. 

We  made  twenty-five  miles  the  next  day  through  a 
wide,  open  country,  well  wooded  in  places  with  a  park- 
like distribution  of  trees,  unwonted  in  our  travels  and 
attractive.  A  new  species  of  spruce  threw  thick  branches 
right  down  to  the  ground  and  tapered  up  to  a  perfect 
cone;  each  tree  apart  from  the  others  and  surrounded  by 
sward  instead  of  underbrush.  There  was  a  dignity  about 
these  trees  that  the  common  Yukon  spruce  never  attains. 
Rolling  hills  of  small  elevation  stretched  on  either  hand 


312    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

and  game  signs  abounded.  After  eight  hours  of  such 
travel  we  spoke  of  camping,  but  presently  saw  footprints 
in  the  snow  and  pushed  on  to  the  bank  of  a  little  river, 
the  Chedolothna,  where  stood  a  cabin,  a  tent,  and  several 
high  caches.  Here,  with  two  families  that  occupied  the 
cabin,  we  stayed  the  night. 

Six  people  at  this  place,  six  at  Talida,  sixteen  at 
Minchumina,  make  up  all  the  population  of  a  region  per- 
haps a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  square.  Yet  it  is  a 
noble  Indian  country,  one  of  the  most  favourable  in  all 
the  interior,  capable  of  supporting  hundreds  of  people. 
Signs,  indeed,  of  a  much  larger  occupation  of  it  were  not 
wanting,  and  all  accounts  speak  of  the  wholesale  destruc- 
tion of  the  natives  by  disease.  We  were  told  of  a  village 
a  little  farther  up  this  stream  where  every  living  being, 
save  one  old  man,  died  of  diphtheria  five  years  previously, 
while  those  who  have  heard  the  stories  of  the  horrors  of 
the  epidemic  of  measles  in  1900,  usually  connected  in  some 
way  with  the  stampede  to  Nome  of  that  year  when  the 
disease  seems  to  have  entered  the  country,  will  under- 
stand how  a  region  once  thickly  peopled,  for  Alaska,  has 
become  the  most  thinly  peopled  in  all  the  territory. 

A  half-breed  trader,  long  resident  at  a  point  perhaps 
two  hundred  miles  lower  down  the  Kuskokwim,  told  me 
of  coming  back  to  a  populous  village  after  an  absence  of 
a  few  weeks,  to  find  every  person  dead  and  the  starving 
dogs  tearing  at  the  rotting  corpses.  It  is  terrible  to  think 
what  the  irruption  of  a  new  disease  may  mean  to  these 
primitive  natives.  Even  a  disease  like  measles,  rarely 
fatal  and   not  commonly  regarded  as  serious  amongst 


THE   INDIAN  GUIDE  313 

whites,  takes  to  itself  a  strange  and  awful  virulence  when 
it  invades  this  virgin  blood.  The  people  know  no  proper 
treatment;  maddened  by  the  itching  rash  that  covers  the 
body,  they  fling  off  all  cover,  rush  outdoors  naked,  what- 
ever the  weather,  and  either  roll  in  the  snow  or  plunge 
into  the  stream;  with  the  result  that  the  disease  "strikes 
in"  and  kills  them.  Such  is  the  description  that  is  given 
of  its  course  along  the  lower  Yukon  and  Kuskokwim.  At 
many  a  Yukon  village  half  the  people  died,  despite  the 
aid  the  few  missionaries  then  on  the  river  could  afford ; 
upon  the  Kuskokwim  the  havoc  seems  to  have  been  still 
greater.  Six  years  later,  death  again  stalked  through  this 
region  after  having  visited  the  Yukon,  and  this  time  seized 
his  victims  by  the  throat.  In  another  chapter  has  been 
given  some  account  of  an  outbreak  of  diphtheria  on  the 
Chandalar,  following  a  more  serious  epidemic  at  Circle 
City  and  Fort  Yukon.  It  was  during  that  same  winter 
the  disease  raged  in  this  region,  remote  from  any  sort  of 
medical  or  even  intelligent  lay  aid,  and  swept  off  all  the 
children  that  had  been  spared  by  the  measles  or  had  been 
born  since  that  time.  At  our  next  stopping-place  we 
saw  the  graves  of  nineteen  children  who  died  in  one  day! 
We  learned  that  we  were  now  within  one  day's  travel 
of  a  road-house,  at  or  near  the  junction  of  the  forks  of 
the  Kuskokwim,  and  that  a  government  trail  had  been 
surveyed  and  staked  from  the  Iditerod  to  the  Sushitna, 
passing  close  to  the  same  point,  and  that  during  the  pres- 
ent winter  road-houses  had  sprung  up  along  the  western 
portion  of  it,  so  that  we  should  not  have  to  make  camp 
again  on  the  way  to  Iditerod  City.     All  of  which  Min- 


314    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

chumina  John  had  collected  from  the  people  in  the  cabin, 
and  now  presented  to  me  as  reason  why  he  should  be 
released  from  further  service.  I  was  loath  to  let  him  go 
until  we  were  actually  at  the  road-house  described,  but 
he  wanted  to  go  back  to  the  lake  for  the  potlatch  then 
preparing,  and  said  that  two  days'  delay  would  bar  him 
from  the  best  of  the  festivities. 

So  I  settled  with  him,  giving  him  fifty  dollars  of  the 
sixty  dollars  covenanted  to  the  Iditerod,  and  grub  enough 
to  take  him  back  to  the  lake,  and  a  rifle,  for  he  was  un- 
provided with  firearms,  and  he  went  his  way  back,  richly 
content,  to  the  gorging  of  unlimited  moose  meat  that 
awaited  him,  and  the  boy  and  I  went  ours.  So  far  as 
merely  his  company  was  concerned  I  was  not  sorry  to 
lose  him.  The  old  saying  holds  good  upon  the  trail  that 
"two  is  company  and  three  is  none."  He  interfered  with 
my  boy's  lessons.  Since  he  had  scarce  any  English,  and 
could  not  be  ignored,  the  conversation  was  mainly  in 
Indian.  In  a  word  he  pulled  the  company  down  to  a 
native  level.  And  I  was  anxious  that  Walter's  educa- 
tion should  proceed. 

This  boy  had  been  with  me  for  two  years,  winter  and 
summer,  and  it  was  a  great  pleasure  to  witness  his  gra- 
cious development  of  body,  mind,  and  character.  Clean- 
limbed, smooth-skinned,  slender,  and  supple,  his  Indian 
blood  showing  chiefly  in  a  slight  swarth  of  complexion 
and  aquilinity  of  feature,  he  now  approached  his  twenti- 
eth year  and  began  to  gain  the  strength  of  his  manhood 
and  to  give  promise  of  more  than  the  average  stature  and 
physical  power.     With  only  one  full  year's  schooling  be- 


THE  HALF-BREED  315 

hind  him,  the  year  before  he  came  to  me,  his  active 
intelHgence  had  made  such  quick  use  of  it  that  there  was 
good  foundation  to  build  upon;  and  our  desultory  lessons 
in  camp — reading  aloud,  writing  from  dictation,  geogra- 
phy and  history  in  such  snippets  as  circumstances  per- 
mitted— were  eagerly  made  the  most  of,  and  his  mental 
horizon  broadened  continually.  Until  his  sixteenth  year 
he  had  lived  amongst  the  Indians  almost  exclusively  and 
had  little  English  and  could  not  read  nor  write.  He  was 
adept  in  all  wilderness  arts.  An  axe,  a  rifle,  a  flaying 
knife,  a  skin  needle  with  its  sinew  thread — with  all  these 
he  was  at  home;  he  could  construct  a  sled  or  a  pair  of 
snow-shoes,  going  to  the  woods  for  his  birch,  drying  it  and 
steaming  it  and  bending  it;  and  could  pitch  camp  with  all 
the  native  comforts  and  amenities  as  quickly  as  anybody 
I  ever  saw.  He  spoke  the  naked  truth,  and  was  so  gentle 
and  unobtrusive  in  manner  that  he  was  a  welcome  guest 
at  the  table  of  any  mission  we  visited.  Miss  Farthing  at 
Nenana  had  laid  her  mark  deep  upon  him  in  the  one 
year  he  was  with  her. 

Before  he  came  to  me  I  had  another  half-breed  for 
two  years,  and  before  that  there  had  been  a  series  of  full- 
blooded  native  boys.  I  found  the  half-breed  greatly 
preferable.  With  full  command  of  the  native  language, 
with  such  insight  into  the  native  mind  as  few  white  men 
ever  attain,  he  combines  the  white  man's  quickness  of 
apprehension  and  desire  for  knowledge;  and  the  com- 
panionship had  been  pleasant  and  profitable.  Both  these 
boys  had  picked  up  quickly  and  efficiently,  without  the 
slightest  previous  experience,  the  running  and  the  care 


3i6    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

of  the  four-cylinder  gasoline  engine  of  the  mission  launch, 
and  took  a  great  and  intelligent  interest  in  all  machinery. 
As  an  interpreter  the  half-breed  is  far  superior  to  most 
full-bloods;  he  takes  one's  purport  immediately;  his  mind 
seems  to  leap  with  the  speaker's  mind,  not  only  to  follow 
faithfully  but  to  anticipate.  And  the  further  his  En- 
glish progresses,  so  much  the  more  excellent  interpreter 
does  he  become. 

My  heart  goes  out  to  the  large  and  rapidly  increasing 
number  of  these  youths  of  mixed  blood  in  Alaska.  It 
is  common  to  hear  them  spoken  of  slightingly  and  con- 
temptuously. There  is  what  my  mind  always  regards 
as  a  damnable  epigram  current  in  the  country  to  the 
effect  that  the  half-breed  inherits  the  vices  of  both  races 
and  the  virtues  of  neither.  The  white  man  who  utters 
this  saying  with  a  chuckle  at  his  second-hand  wit  has 
generally  not  much  virtue  to  transmit,  were  virtue  her- 
itable. But  to  thoughtful  men  nowadays  this  talk  of 
the  inheritance  of  virtues  and  vices  is  mere  folly.  The 
half-breed  in  Alaska,  as  elsewhere,  is  the  product  of 
his  environment.  Often  without  legitimate  father — 
although  in  an  Indian  community,  where  nothing  is 
secret,  his  parentage  is  usually  well  known — he  is  left 
for  some  native  woman  to  support  with  the  aid  of  her 
native  husband.  He  is  reared  with  the  full-blooded  off- 
spring of  the  couple  in  the  frankness  that  knows  no  re- 
serve and  the  intimacy  that  knows  no  restraint,  of  Indian 
life.  The  full  extent  of  that  frankness  and  intimacy  shocks 
even  the  loosest-living  white  man  when  he  first  becomes 
aware  of  it.     Where  religion  and  decency  have  not  been 


THE  LOW-DOWN  WHITE  317 

faithfully  inculcated  there  is  no  bound  to  it  at  all — it  is 
complete.  Presently,  as  his  superior  intellectual  inheri- 
tance begins  to  manifest  itself,  as  he  grows  up  into  con- 
sciousness that  he  is  different  from,  and  in  many  ways 
superior  to,  the  Indians  around  him,  he  is  naturally 
drawn  to  such  white  society  as  comes  his  way. 

In  this  book  a  good  deal  has  been  said,  and,  it  may  be 
thought  by  the  reader,  said  with  a  good  deal  of  asperity, 
about  the  whites  who  frequent  Indian  communities  and 
come  most  into  contact  with  the  native  people;  yet  the 
more  the  author  sees  of  this  class,  the  less  is  he  disposed 
to  modify  any  of  the  strictures  he  has  put  upon  it.  "The 
Low-Down  White"  is  the  subject  of  one  of  the  most 
powerful  and  scathing  of  Robert  Service's  ballads,  those 
most  unequal  productions  with  their  mixture  of  strength 
and  feebleness,  of  true  and  forced  notes,  the  best  of 
which  should  certainly  live  amongst  the  scant  literature 
of  the  North.  And,  indeed,  the  spectacle  of  the  man 
of  the  higher  race,  with  all  the  age-long  traditions  and 
habits  of  civilisation  behind  him,  descending  below  the 
level  of  the  savage,  corrupting  and  debauching  the  sav- 
age and  making  this  corrupting  and  debauching  the  sole 
exercise  of  his  more  intelligent  and  cultivated  mind,  is 
one  that  has  aroused  the  disgust  and  indignation  of 
whites  in  all  quarters  of  the  world.  Kipling  and  Conrad 
have  drawn  him  in  the  East;  Robert  Louis  Stevenson  in 
the  South  Sea  Islands;  any  army  officer  will  draw  him 
for  you  in  the  Philippines,  which  lack  as  yet  their 
great  delineator;  Service  has  not  overdrawn  him  on  the 
Yukon. 


3i8    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

Now,  it  is  to  this  man's  society,  for  lack  of  other  white 
society  open  to  him,  that  the  young  half-breed  who  feels 
his  father's  blood  stirring  within  him  is  drawn  and  is 
made  welcome.  He  finds  standards  even  lower,  because 
more  sophisticated,  than  the  standards  of  the  Indians 
themselves.  He  finds  that  honesty  and  morality  are  a 
sham,  religion  a  laughing-stock.  He  finds  the  chastity 
of  women  and  the  honour  of  men  sneeringly  regarded  as 
non-existent.  He  is  taught  to  curse  and  swear,  to  talk 
lewdly,  to  drink  and  gamble.  He  is  taught  that  drunk- 
enness and  sensuality  are  the  only  enjoyments  worth 
looking  forward  to,  and  he  soon  becomes  as  vile  as  his 
preceptors.  The  back  room  of  the  Indian  trader's  store 
is  often  the  scene  of  this  tuition — barroom,  assignation 
house,  gambling  hell  in  one.  But  let  that  same  youth  be 
taken  early  in  hand  by  one  who  has  a  care  for  him  and 
will  be  at  some  personal  pains  to  train  him  cleanly  and 
uprightly,  and  he  is  as  amenable  to  the  good  influences 
as  he  would  be  to  the  bad  if  they  were  his  sole  environ- 
ment. Conscious  all  the  time  of  his  equivocal  position, 
shy  and  timid  about  asserting  himself  amongst  whites, 
he  is  easy  prey  to  the  viciously  as  he  is  apt  pupil  to 
the  virtuously  disposed. 

What  is  said  here  of  the  male  half-breeds  applies  a 
fortiori  to  the  female.  Unless  early  taken  in  hand  by 
the  missionary,  or  put  under  the  protection  of  some 
church  boarding-school — and  sometimes  despite  all  such 
care  and  teaching — the  lot  of  the  half-breed  girl  is  a  sad 
one ;  and  some  of  the  lowest  and  vilest  women  of  the  land 
are  of  mixed  blood. 


"Now   FOLLOWING    A   NARROW    STEEP    WOODLAND   TRAIL.' 


THE  DOG  GUIDES  319 

The  half-breed  is  assuredly  to  be  reckoned  with  in  the 
future  of  Alaska.  He  is  here  to  stay.  He  is  here  in 
increasing  numbers.  He  is  the  natural  leader  of  the 
Indian  population.  There  seems  little  doubt  that  when 
he  cares  to  assert  his  rights  he  is  already  an  American 
citizen,  although  judicial  decisions  are  uncertain  and 
conflicting  in  this  matter. 

The  missions  in  the  interior  have  recognised,  though 
perhaps  somewhat  tardily,  the  importance  of  the  half- 
breeds,  and  have  picked  them  up  here  and  there  along 
the  rivers  and  become  responsible  for  their  decent  rearing. 
Some,  assuredly,  of  the  future  leaders  of  the  native  peo- 
ple are  now  in  training  at  the  mission  schools.  Some, 
unfortunately,  are  in  quite  as  assiduous  training  by  the 
unscrupulous  Indian  trader  and  his  coterie  of  low-down 
whites. 

The  skies  had  threatened  snow  since  we  arose,  and 
when  our  diminished  expedition  was  well  upon  its  way 
the  snow  began  to  fall.  For  thirty-six  hours  it  fell  without 
cessation.  Three  days  of  good  travel  had  put  us  forward 
seventy-five  or  eighty  miles;  now  once  more  we  were 
"up  against"  deep  snow  and  trail  breaking.  An  old 
native  whom  we  met  on  his  way  to  the  potlatch  later  in 
the  day  spread  out  his  hands  with  a  look  of  despair 
and  cried:  "Good  trail  all  lose'm!"  All  day  we  pushed 
on  against  the  driving  storm,  the  flakes  stinging  our  faces 
and  striking  painfully  against  our  eyeballs,  now  follow- 
ing a  narrow  steep  woodland  trail,  now  awhile  along  a 
creek  bed,  now  across  open  country  with  increasing  diffi- 
culty in  finding  our  way,  until  it  grew  dark  while  yet  we 


320    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

were  some  miles  from  our  destination,  and  we  made  camp ; 
and  all  night  long  the  heavy  snow  continued. 

So  soon  as  we  had  struck  our  tent,  crusted  with  ice, 
and  had  broken  up  our  wet  camp  next  morning  there  was 
trouble  about  finding  the  trail.  Wide  open  spaces  with 
never  an  indication  of  direction  stretched  before  us.  Again 
and  again  we  cast  about,  the  boy  to  the  left,  I  to  the  right, 
to  find  some  blaze  or  mark,  but  much  of  the  course  lay 
across  open  country  that  bore  none.  And  then  I  sorely 
regretted  having  let  John  go  back.  Some  miles  before 
we  came  to  a  stop  the  previous  evening,  we  passed  a  na- 
tive encampment  with  naught  but  women  and  children 
in  it — the  men  gone  hunting.  But  we  could  not  speak 
with  them  or  get  any  information  from  them,  for  our 
Kuskokwim  interpreter  was  gone.  And  now  it  seemed 
likely  that  we  should  lose  our  way  in  this  wilderness. 
At  last  we  were  entirely  at  a  loss,  the  boy  returning  on 
the  one  side  and  I  on  the  other  from  wide  detours,  in 
which  we  had  found  no  sign  at  all.  The  snow  still  fell 
heavily;  there  lay  more  than  a  foot  of  it  upon  the  late 
crust;  trail  or  sign  of  a  trail,  on  the  snow  or  above  it, 
was  not  at  all. 

Then  occurred  one  of  the  most  remarkable  things  I 
have  known  in  all  my  journeyings.  Straight  ahead  in 
the  middle  distance  I  spied  two  stray  dogs  making  a  direct 
course  towards  us;  not  wandering  about,  but  evidently 
going  somewhere.  Now  there  are  no  such  things  as  un- 
attached dogs  in  Alaska;  any  dog  entirely  detached  from 
human  ownership  and  some  sort  of  human  maintenance 
would  soon  be  a  dead  dog.     The  explanation,  full  of 


THE  WILDERNESS   POET  321 

hope,  sprang  at  once  to  the  boy's  mind.  The  dogs  must 
belong  to  the  native  encampment  some  six  miles  back, 
and  they  had  been  to  the  road-house  for  what  scraps  they 
could  pick  up,  and  were  returning.  It  was  probably  a 
daily  excursion  and  they  had  doubtless  followed  their 
accustomed  trail.  So  it  turned  out.  All  the  way  to 
that  road-house,  eight  miles  farther,  we  followed  the 
trail  left  by  those  dogs,  growing  fainter  and  fainter  indeed 
as  the  new  snow  fell  upon  it,  but  still  discernible  until 
we  had  almost  reached  the  road-house.  It  led  across  open 
swampy  wastes,  and  presently  across  two  considerable 
lakes,  over  which  we  should  never  have  been  able  to  find 
our  way,  for  the  trail  swung  to  one  hand  or  the  other  and 
did  not  leave  the  lake  in  the  same  general  direction  by 
which  it  had  reached  it.  Walter  cut  a  bundle  of  boughs 
and  staked  the  trail  out  as  we  pursued  it,  lest  we  should 
return  this  way,  but  from  the  moment  we  saw  the  dogs 
there  was  never  any  question  about  the  trail;  they  kept 
it  perfectly.  We  were  four  and  a  half  hours  making  the 
eight  miles  or  so  to  Nicoli's  Village  and  the  road-house, 
but  we  might  have  been  days  making  it  but  for  those  dogs. 
And  at  the  road-house  we  learned  that  the  boy's  theory 
of  their  movements  was  the  right  one.  They  came 
across  the  twelve  or  fourteen  miles  every  day  for  such 
scraps  as  they  could  pick  up. 

So  here  was  our  first  white  man  in  sixteen  days,  an 
intelligent  man  of  meagre  education,  with  a  great  bent 
for  versifying.  A  courteous  approval  of  one  set  of  verse 
brought  upon  us  the  accumulated  output  of  years  in  the 
wilderness  without  much  opportunity  of  audience,  as  one 


322    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

supposes,  and  most  of  the  afternoon  and  evening  was 
thus  spent.  Amidst  the  overwrought  sentimentality 
and  faulty  scansion  which  marked  most  of  the  pieces 
was  one  simple  little  poem  that  struck  a  true  note,  said 
its  little  say,  and  quit — without  a  superfluous  word.  Its 
author  set  no  store  by  it  at  all  compared  with  his  more 
pretentious  and  meretricious  work;  yet  it  was  the  one 
poem  in  the  whole  mass.  It  described  the  writing  of  a 
letter  to  his  father;  he  had  spent  all  he  had  in  prospecting 
and  working  a  small  claim,  and  had  just  realised  that  a 
year's  labour  was  gone  for  naught.  His  father  would 
worry  if  he  got  no  word  at  all,  but  there  was  no  use  telling 
the  old  man  he  was  broke,  so  he  just  wrote  that  he  was 
well,  and  that  was  all.  The  old  man  would  come  pretty 
near  understanding  anyway.  In  simple  lines  that  scanned 
and  rhymed  naturally,  that  was  what  the  three  or  four 
stanzas  said.  And  it  was  so  typical  of  many  a  man's 
situation  in  this  country,  gave  so  simply  and  well  the 
reason  why  many  men  cease  writing  to  their  relatives 
at  all,  that  it  pleased  me  and  seemed  of  value.  That 
note  came  from  the  heart  and  from  the  life's  experience. 

Nicoli's  Village  is  a  very  small  place  with  a  mere 
handful  of  people,  situated  on  the  South  Fork  of  the 
Kuskokwim  some  forty  miles  by  river  above  the  junc- 
tion of  the  forks.  Before  the  epidemics  devastated  it  it 
had  been  a  considerable  native  community.  A  Greek 
church,  which  the  natives  built  entirely  themselves,  and 
which  boasted  a  large  painted  icon  of  sorts,  was  the  most 
important  building  in  the  place,  and  was  served  by  the 
lay  minister  referred  to  before.      Thus  far   the  Kusko- 


ROAD-HOUSES  323 

kwim  is  navigable  for  vessels  of  light  draught,  and  a  small 
stern-wheel  steamboat  lay  wintering  upon  the  bank. 

Our  way  now  left  the  Kuskokwim  and  struck  across 
country  to  a  point  just  below  the  junction  of  the  forks, 
and  then  across  country  again  to  a  tributary  of  the  right 
bank,  the  Takotna;  with  a  general  northerly  direction. 
Road-houses  there  indeed  were,  in  the  crudity  and  dis- 
comfort of  their  first  season,  and  other  evidences  of  the 
proximity  of  the  white  man.  Here  were  two  men 
camped,  hunting  moose  for  the  Iditerod  market,  more 
than  a  hundred  and  twenty-five  miles  away,  and  here, 
at  the  end  of  the  second  day,  near  the  mouth  of  the 
Takotna,  was  the  new  post  of  the  Commercial  Company 
in  the  charge  of  an  old  acquaintance  who  welcomed  us 
warmly  and  entertained  us  most  hospitably.  After  camp- 
ing and  road-house  experience  of  nearly  three  weeks, 
a  comfortable  bed  and  well-spread  table,  and  the  general 
unmistakable  menage  of  a  home-making  woman  are 
very  highly  enjoyed.  That  night  the  whole  population 
of  the  settlement,  fourteen  persons,  gathered  in  the  store 
for  Divine  service. 

Sixteen  miles  farther  on  was  another  settlement,  the 
"Upper  Takotna"  Post,  with  a  rival  company  established 
and  some  larger  population.  Here,  also,  we  spent  a  night 
with  old  Fairbanks  acquaintances.  We  were  yet  a  hun- 
dred miles  from  Iditerod  City,  and  the  trail  lay  over  a 
very  rugged,  hilly  country,  up  one  creek  to  its  head,  over 
a  divide,  and  down  another,  in  the  way  of  the  usual  cross- 
country traverse. 

There  had  not  been  so  much  snowfall  in  this  section. 


324    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

but  the  weather  began  to  be  very  severe.  The  thermom- 
eter fell  to  —45°  and  —50°  and  —55°  on  three  successive 
nights,  and  all  day  long  rose  not  above  —20°,  with  a  keen 
wind.  The  cost  of  transporting  supplies  to  the  road- 
houses  on  this  trail  justified  the  high  prices  charged — 
one  dollar  and  a  half  for  a  poor  meal  of  rabbits  and  beans 
and  bacon,  or  ptarmigan  and  beans  and  bacon,  and  one 
dollar  for  a  lunch  of  coffee,  bread  and  butter,  and  dried 
fruit.  But  no  such  exigency  could  be  pleaded  to  excuse 
the  dirt  and  discomfort  and  lack  of  the  commonest  pro- 
vision of  outhouse  decency  at  most  of  these  places — *twas 
mere  shiftlessness.  There  is  not  often  much  middle 
ground  in  Alaskan  road-houses ;  they  are  either  very  good 
in  their  way  or  very  bad;  either  kept  by  professional 
victuallers  who  take  pride  in  them  or  by  idle  incompe- 
tents who  make  an  easy  living  out  of  the  necessities  of 
travellers.  One  wishes  that  some  of  the  old-time  travel- 
lers who  used  to  wax  so  eloquently  indignant  over  the 
inns  in  the  Pyrenees  could  make  a  winter  journey  in  the 
interior  of  Alaska. 

One  thing  pleased  me  at  these  road-houses.  The  only 
reading-matter  in  any  of  them  consisted  of  magazines 
bearing  the  rubber  stamp  of  Saint  Matthew's  Reading- 
Room  at  Fairbanks,  part  of  a  five-hundred-pound  cargo 
of  magazines  which  the  mission  launch  Pelican  brought 
to  the  Iditerod  the  previous  summer;  virtually  the  only 
reading-matter  in  the  whole  camp.  It  was  pleasant  to 
know  that  we  had  been  able  to  avert  the  real  calamity 
of  a  total  absence  of  anything  to  read  for  a  whole  winter 
throughout  this  wide  district.     But,  although  they  were 


o  W 


PLACE-NAMES  325 

brought  to  the  Iditerod  and  distributed  absolutely  free, 
each  of  these  magazines  had  cost  the  road-house  keeper 
twenty-five  cents  for  carriage  over  the  trail  from  Iditerod 
City,  and  they  had  been  read  to  death.  Some  of  them 
were  so  black  and  greasy  from  continued  handling  that 
the  print  at  the  edges  of  the  pages  was  almost  un- 
readable. 

These  creeks  swarmed  with  ptarmigan,  and  it  was 
well  they  did,  for  the  new  camp  was  ill  supplied  with 
food,  and  we  found  ourselves  in  a  region  of  growing 
scarcity  as  we  approached  the  Iditerod.  The  ptarmigan 
seem  to  have  supplemented  the  meagre  stocks  in  the 
Iditerod  during  this  winter  of  1910-11  as  effectively  as 
the  rabbits  did  in  the  Fairbanks  camp  in  the  scarce  win- 
ter of  1904-5.  In  place  after  place  the  whole  creek  val- 
ley, where  it  was  open,  was  crisscrossed  with  ptarmigan 
tracks,  and  the  birds  rose  in  coveys,  uttering  their  harsh, 
guttural  cry  at  every  turn  of  the  trail. 

The  summit  between  the  head  of  Moose  Creek  and 
the  head  of  Bonanza  Creek  is  again  a  watershed  between 
the  waters  of  the  Kuskokwim  and  the  waters  of  the 
Yukon ;  for  Moose  Creek  is  tributary  to  the  Takotna  and 
Bonanza  Creek  is  tributary  to  Otter  Creek,  which  is 
tributary  to  the  Iditerod  River.  The  "summit"  is  high 
above  timber-line,  and  when  the  trail  has  reached  it 
it  does  not  descend  immediately  but  pursues  a  hogback 
ridge  for  a  mile  and  a  half  at  about  the  summit  level. 
We  passed  over  it  in  clear,  bright  weather  without  dif- 
ficulty, but  it  would  be  a  bad  passage  in  wind  or  snow  or 
fog.     The  rugged,  broken  country,  with  small,  rounded 


326    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

domes  of  hills,  stretched  away  in  all  directions,  a  maze  of 
little  valleys  threading  in  and  out  amongst  them. 

The  Bonanza  Creek  road-house  was  by  far  the  best 
of  any  between  the  Kuskokwim  and  the  Iditerod,  and 
showed  what  can  be  done  for  comfort,  even  under  adverse 
circumstances,  by  a  couple  who  care  and  try.  But  how 
the  names  of  gold-bearing  creeks,  or  creeks  that  are  ex- 
pected to  be  gold-bearing  are  repeated  again  and  again 
in  every  new  camp!  I  once  counted  up  the  following 
list  of  mining  place-names  in  Alaska:  Bonanza  Creeks, 
lo;  Eldorados  and  Little  Eldorados,  lo;  Nugget  Creeks 
or  Gulches,  17;  Gold  Creeks,  12;  Gold  Runs,  7.  Nor 
is  it  only  in  creeks  with  auriferous  deposit  or  expecta- 
tion of  auriferous  deposit  that  this  reduplication  occurs; 
there  are  Bear  Creeks,  16;  Boulder  Creeks,  13;  Moose 
Creeks,  13;  Willow  Creeks,  17;  Canyon  Creeks,  12; 
Glacier  Creeks,  14. 

The  imagination  of  the  average  prospector  is  not  his 
most  active  faculty,  but  even  when  his  imagination  is 
given  play  and  he  names  a  place  "Twilight,"  as  he  did 
the  original  settlement  at  this  base  of  supplies,  the 
ineradicable  prose  of  trade  comes  along  the  next  sum- 
mer and  changes  it  to  "Iditerod  City."  There  must 
have  been  some  remarkable  personality  strong  enough 
to  repress  the  "chamber  of  commerce"  at  Tombstone, 
Arizona,  or  the  place  would  have  lost  its  distinctive  name 
so  soon  as  it  grew  large  enough  to  have  mercantile  estab- 
lishments instead  of  stores. 

We  went  through  "Discovery  Otter"  and  into  "Flat 
City,"  on  Flat  Creek,  the  jealous  rival  of  Iditerod  City, 


u 


IDITEROD  CITY  327 

and  so  over  the  hills  to  Iditerod  City,  on  the  wings  of  a 
storm.  The  wind  whirled  the  snow  behind  us  and  drove 
the  sled  along  almost  on  top  of  the  dogs.  In  its  bleak 
situation  and  its  exposure  to  the  full  force  of  the  wind, 
Iditerod  City  reminds  one  of  Nome  or  Candle  on  the 
Seward  Peninsula.  The  hills  and  flats  that  surround  it 
are  in  the  main  treeless,  and  the  snow  drifts  and  drives 
over  everything.  Almost  all  the  week  that  we  spent  in 
the  town  it  was  smothered  up  in  a  howling  wind-storm,  so 
that  it  was  quite  a  serious  undertaking  to  walk  a  block 
or  two  along  the  streets.  Deep  drifts  were  piled  up  on 
all  the  corners  and  on  the  lee  side  of  all  buildings.  We 
reached  Iditerod  City  on  Monday,  the  13th  of  March. 
Until  the  following  Friday  morning  was  no  cessation  or 
moderation  of  the  wind-storm;  and  this,  they  told  us, 
represented  most  of  the  weather  since  the  ist  of  January. 
Overgrown  and  overdone  in  every  way,  the  place  pre- 
sented all  the  features,  sordid  and  otherwise,  of  a  raw 
mining  town.  Prices  had  risen  enormously  on  all  manner 
of  supplies,  for  everything  that  was  not  actually  "short" 
was  believed  to  be  "cornered."  Bacon  was  ninety  cents 
a  pound;  butter  one  dollar  and  a  half  a  pound;  flour  was 
twenty  dollars  a  hundred  pounds,  and  most  things  in 
like  ratio.  Some  said  the  grub  was  not  in  the  camp; 
others  that  the  tradesmen  had  it  cached  away  waiting 
for  the  still  higher  prices  they  believed  would  obtain 
before  fresh  supplies  could  arrive  in  July.  There  was  a 
general  feeling  of  disappointment  and  discouragement, 
enhanced  by  discomfort  and  actual  suff^ering  from  the 
terrible  stormy  weather  of  the  winter  and  the  exorbitant 


328    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

and  growing  price  of  provisions.  Many  men  without 
occupation  were  living  on  one  meal  a  day.  The  saloons 
and  the  parasitical  classes,  male  and  female,  seemed  to 
flourish  and  to  play  their  usual  prominent  part  in  the 
life  of  such  places.  The  doings  of  notorious  women 
whose  sobriquets  seemed  household  words,  the  lavish 
expenditures  of  certain  men  upon  them,  the  presents 
of  diamonds  they  received,  with  the  amount  paid  for 
them,  constituted  a  large  part  of  the  general  talk. 

One  is  compelled  to  admire  the  vigour  and  enthusiastic 
enterprise,  daunted  by  no  difficulty,  that  is  displayed  in 
the  wonderfully  rapid  upraising  of  a  new  mining-camp 
town.  The  building  goes  far  ahead  of  the  known  wealth 
of  the  camp  and  commonly  far  ahead  of  the  reasonable 
expectation.  But  the  element  of  chance  is  so  important 
a  factor  in  placer  mining  that  the  whole  thing  partakes 
more  of  the  nature  of  gambling  than  of  a  commercial 
venture.  Any  new  camp  may  suddenly  present  the  world 
with  a  new  Klondike;  with  riches  abundant  and  to  spare 
for  every  one  who  is  fortunate  enough  to  be  on  the  spot. 
Here  was  Flat  Creek  with  a  surprisingly  rich  deposit; 
why  should  there  not  be  a  dozen  such  amidst  the  mul- 
titudinous creeks  of  the  district.?  How  could  any  one 
know  that  it  would  be  almost  the  only  creek  on  which 
pay  would  be  found  at  all  ^  For  there  is  no  law  about  the 
distribution  of  gold  deposits;  there  is  not  even  a  general 
rule  that  has  not  its  notable  exceptions.  It  is  very  gen- 
erally believed  by  the  old  prospectors  and  miners  that 
somewhere  in  the  Bible  may  be  found  these  words,  "Sil- 
ver occurs  in  veins,  but  gold  is  where  you  find  it,"  which 


THOUSANDS  WITHOUT  CHURCH  329 

of  course,  Is  a  mere  misreading  or  faulty  remembering  of 
a  verse  in  the  Book  of  Job:  "Surely  there  is  a  vein  for  the 
silver  and  a  place  for  the  gold  where  they  fine  it"  (refine 
it).  But  that  "gold  is  where  you  find  it"  is  about  the 
only  law  touching  auriferous  deposits  that  holds  uni- 
versally good. 

Three  long  parallel  streets  of  one  and  two  story  wooden 
buildings,  with  cross  streets  connecting  them,  made  up 
the  town.  Because  the  country  is  poorly  timbered,  the 
usual  log  construction  had  yielded  in  the  main  to  framed 
buildings,  and  great  quantities  of  lumber  had  been  brought 
the  previous  summer  from  Fairbanks,  and  even  from 
Nome  and  the  outside,  to  supplement  the  low-grade  out- 
put of  two  local  mills.  But  the  price  of  building  materials 
had  been  very  high,  and  the  average  dwelling  was  very 
small  and  incommodious.  People  accustomed  to  the 
comparative  luxury  of  the  older  camps  had  suffered  a 
good  deal  from  the  lack  of  all  domestic  conveniences  in 
this  new  will-o'-the-wisp  of  an  eldorado. 

So  there  the  town  stretched  away,  lumber  and  paper, 
— the  usual  tinder-box  Alaskan  construction — stores  slap 
up  against  one  another,  with  no  alleyways  between;  in 
the  busiest  part  of  it  and  along  the  water-front  even  an  ad- 
equate provision  of  side  streets  grudged;  furnace-heated 
and  kiln-dried  and  gasoline-lit;  waiting  for  the  careless 
match  and  the  fanning  wind  and  the  five  minutes'  start 
that  should  send  it  all  up  in  smoke.  A  week  after  we 
left  it  came;  as  it  came  to  Dawson,  as  it  came  to  Nome, 
as  it  came  to  Fairbanks,  without  teaching  any  lesson  or 
leaving   any   precautionary   regulations   on   the   statute 


330    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

book  to  save  men  from  their  own  competitive  greed. 
Two  or  three  weeks  after  the  fire,  however,  it  was  all  re- 
built, and  a  plunging  local  bank  held  mortgages  on  most 
of  the  structures  for  the  cost  of  the  new  material — and 
holds  them  yet. 

With  at  least  a  thousand  people  resident  in  the  town, 
not  to  mention  the  thousands  more  out  upon  the  creeks 
and  at  Flat  City  and  "Discovery*  Otter,"  there  was  no 
minister  of  religion  of  any  sort  in  the  whole  region,  nor 
had  public  Divine  service  been  conducted  since  the  occa- 
sion of  the  Pelican  s  visit  the  previous  summer.  Yet  there 
were  many  in  the  place  who  sorely  missed  the  opportu- 
nities of  worship.  Twice  on  Sunday  the  largest  dancing 
hall  in  the  town  was  crowded  at  service;  at  night  it  could 
have  been  filled  a  second  time  with  those  unable  to  get  in. 

Places  like  this  present  very  difficult  problems  to 
those  desirous  of  providing  for  their  religious  need.  To 
occupy  them  at  all  they  should  be  occupied  at  once  when 
yet  eligible  sites  may  be  had  for  the  staking;  if  they 
prosper,  to  come  into  them  later  means  buying  at  a  high 
price.  Yet  what  seventh  son  of  a  seventh  son  shall  have 
foresight  enough  to  tell  the  fortunes  of  them.^  The 
North  is  strewn  with  "cities"  of  one  winter.  Nor  is  the 
selection  of  suitable  men  to  minister  to  such  communities 
a  simple  matter.  Amidst  the  overthrow  of  all  the  usual 
criteria  of  conduct,  the  fading  out  of  the  usual  dividing 
lines  and  the  blending  into  one  another  of  the  usual 

*The  "  claim  "  on  a  creek  on  which  gold  is  first  found  is  called  "  Discov- 
ery"; the  claims  above  are  numbered  one,  two,  three,  etc.,  "  above"  and  the 
claims  below,  one,  two,  three,  etc.,  "  below." 


THE  "MOVING  OF  THE  MEAT"  331 

divisions,  it  requires  a  tactful  and  prudent  man  "to  keep 
the  happy  mean  between  too  much  stiffness  in  refusing 
and  to  much  easiness  in  admitting"  variations  from  con- 
ventional standards.  His  point  of  view,  if  he  is  to  have 
any  influence  whatever,  must  not  exclude  the  point  of 
view  of  the  great  majority;  he  must  accept  the  situation 
in  order  to  have  any  chance  of  improving  the  situation. 
And  yet  in  the  fundamentals  of  character  and  conduct 
he  must  be  unswerving.  And  if  on  any  such  fundamental 
the  battle  gauge  is  thrown  down,  he  must  take  it  up  and 
fight  the  quarrel  out  at  whatever  cost. 

We  left  Iditerod  City  on  Monday,  the  20th  of  March, 
the  dogs  the  fatter  and  fresher  for  their  week's  rest, 
resolved  not  to  return  by  the  Kuskokwim  but  to  take  the 
beaten  trail  out  to  the  Yukon,  and  so  all  the  way  up 
that  stream  to  Fort  Yukon.  The  monthly  mail  had  ar- 
rived a  few  days  previously — a  monthly  mail  was  all  that 
the  thousands  of  men  in  this  camp  could  secure — and  had 
gone  out  again  the  very  next  morning,  before  people  had 
time  to  answer  their  letters,  before  the  registered  mail 
had  even  been  delivered.  So  our  departure  for  the  Yukon 
was  eagerly  seized  upon  and  advertised  as  a  means  of 
despatching  probably  the  last  mail  that  would  go  outside 
over  the  ice.  I  was  sworn  in  as  special  carrier,  and  a 
heavy  sack  of  first-class  mail  added  to  our  load  as  far 
as  Tanana.  The  first  stage  of  thirty  miles  led  to  Dike- 
man,  a  town  at  the  headwaters  of  ordinary  steamboat 
navigation  of  the  Iditerod  River,  at  which  the  Commercial 
Company  had  built  a  depot  and  extensive  warehouse, 
since  in  the  main  abandoned.     Two  streets  of  cabins 


332    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

lined  the  bank,  but  forty  or  fifty  souls  comprised  the  pop- 
ulation, and  almost  all  of  them  gathered  for  Divine  ser- 
vice that  night. 

From  Dikeman  to  Dishkaket,  on  the  Innoko  River,  a 
distance  of  some  seventy  miles,  our  route  lay  over  one  of 
the  dreariest  and  most  dismal  regions  in  all  Alaska.  It  is 
one  succession  of  lakes  and  swamps,  with  narrow,  almost 
knife-edge,  ridges  between,  fringed  with  stunted  spruce. 
Far  as  the  eye  could  reach  to  right  and  left  the  country 
was  the  same;  it  is  safe  to  say  broadly  that  all  the  land 
between  the  Iditerod  and  Innoko  Rivers  is  of  this  char- 
acter. We  passed  over  it  in  mild  weather,  but  it  must  be 
a  terrible  country  to  cross  in  storm  or  through  deep  snow. 
For  ten  miles  at  a  stretch  there  was  scarcely  a  place  where 
a  man  might  make  a  decent  camp.  At  a  midway  road- 
house  was  gathered  the  greatest  assemblage  of  dogs  and 
loaded  sleds  I  had  ever  seen  together  at  one  time,  each 
team  with  an  Indian  driver;  they  must  have  covered  a 
quarter  or  a  third  of  a  mile.  It  was  a  freight  train  engaged 
in  transporting  a  whole  boat-load  of  butcher's  meat  to 
Iditerod  City,  the  cargo  of  a  steamboat  that  had  frozen 
in  on  the  Yukon  the  previous  October  or  early  Novem- 
ber. All  the  winter  through  efforts  had  been  made  to 
get  this  meat  two  hundred  odd  miles  overland  to  its  des- 
tination; but  the  weather  had  been  so  stormy  and  the 
snow  so  deep  that  near  the  end  of  March  most  of  it  was 
still  on  the  way,  and  some  yet  far  down  the  trail  towards 
the  Yukon  waiting  for  another  trip  of  the  teams. 

Dishkaket  was  merely  a  native  village  on  the  Innoko 
River  two  or  three  years  before;  but  since  three  new 


MILLINERY  333 

trails  from  the  Yukon  come  together  here — from  Kaltag 
Nulato,  and  Lewis's  Landing — and  in  the  other  directions 
two  trails  branch  off  here,  to  the  Innoko  diggings  at  Ophir 
and  to  the  Iditerod,  a  store  or  two  and  a  couple  of  road- 
houses  had  sprung  up. 

From  Dishkaket,  after  crossing  the  Innoko,  we  took 
the  most  northerly  of  the  three  trails  to  the  Yukon,  the 
Lewis  Cut-Off,  a  trail  of  a  hundred  miles  that  strikes 
straight  across  country  and  reaches  the  Yukon  eighty 
miles  farther  up  that  stream  than  the  Nulato  trail  and 
a  hundred  and  twenty  miles  farther  up  than  the  Kaltag 
trail.  The  Kaltag  trail  is  the  trail  to  Nome;  the  Nulato 
trail  is  the  mail  trail  simply  because  it  suits  the  con- 
tractors to  throw  business  to  Nulato.  The  Lewis  Cut- 
Off  is  the  direct  route,  the  shortest  by  about  a  hundred 
miles,  but  it  was  cut  by  the  private  individual  whose 
name  it  bears,  and  leads  out  to  his  store  and  road-house 
on  the  Yukon;  so  a  rival  road-house  was  built  close  by 
on  the  river  and  the  prestige  and  advertisement  of  the 
"United  States  mail  route"  thrown  to  the  trail  that 
covers  one  hundred  unnecessary  miles — for  no  other  rea- 
son than  to  deprive  Lewis  of  the  legitimate  fruit  of  his 
enterprise. 

The  character  of  the  country  changed  so  soon  as  the 
Innoko  was  crossed;  the  wide  swamps  gave  place  to  a 
broken,  light-timbered  country  of  ridges  and  hollows,  and 
the  rough,  laborious,  horse-ruined  trail  across  it  made  bad 
travelling.  "Buckskin  Bill,"  with  his  cayuses,  was  also 
engaged  in  "moving  the  meat."  The  measured  miles, 
moreover,  gave  place  to  estimated  miles,  and  the  nominal 


3  34    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

twenty-five  we  made  the  first  day  was  probably  not  much 
more  than  twenty. 

The  first  fifty  miles  of  the  country  between  the 
Innoko  and  the  Yukon  is  much  the  same,  and  we  were 
climbing  and  descending  ridges  for  a  couple  of  days. 
Then  we  crossed  a  high  ridge  and  dropped  out  of  Innoko 
waters  into  the  valley  of  the  Yukatna,  a  tributary  of  the 
Yukon,  and  passed  down  this  valley  for  thirty  or  forty 
miles,  and  then  across  some  more  broken  country  to  the 
Yukon.  At  one  of  the  road-houses  a  woman  was  stop- 
ping, going  in  with  three  or  four  large  sled  loads  of  mil- 
linery and  "ladies'  furnishings."  We  were  told  that  the 
merchandise  had  cost  her  twelve  thousand  dollars  in 
Fairbanks,  and  that  she  expected  to  realise  thirty  thou- 
sand dollars  by  selling  it  to  the  "sporting"  women  of  the 
Iditerod,  now  a  whole  winter  debarred  from  "the  latest 
imported  French  fashions."  This  woman  was  dressed  in 
overalls,  like  a  man,  and  the  drivers  of  her  teams,  two 
white  men  and  a  native,  cursed  and  swore  and  used  filthy 
language  to  the  dogs  in  her  presence.  It  always  angers 
me  to  hear  an  Indian  curse;  to  hear  one  curse  in  the  pres- 
ence of  a  white  woman  was  particularly  disgusting  and 
exasperating;  but  what  could  one  expect  when  the  white 
men  put  no  slightest  restraint  upon  themselves  and  the 
woman  seemed  utterly  indifferent?  I  called  the  Indian 
aside  and  spoke  very  plainly  to  him,  and  he  ceased  his 
ribaldry;  but  the  white  men  still  poured  it  out  as  they 
struggled  to  hitch  their  many  dogs.  At  last  I  could 
stand  it  no  longer.  "Madam,"  I  said  to  the  woman,  "I 
don't  know  who  you  are,  save  that  you  are  a  white 


"TREASURE  ISLAND"  335 

woman,  and  as  a  white  woman,  if  I  were  you,  I  would 
make  those  blackguards  treat  me  with  more  respect  than 
to  use  such  language  before  me."  She  flushed  and  made 
no  reply.  The  men,  who  heard  what  I  said,  scowled  and 
made  no  reply.  Presently  dispositions  were  done  and 
the  train  moved  off,  but  I  did  not  hear  any  more  foul 
language.  This  is  set  down  here  chiefly  because  it  was 
the  first  and  only  time  in  all  his  travels  in  Alaska  that  the 
writer  heard  such  language  in  such  presence. 

Another  road-house  was  kept  by  a  man  who  had  been 
cook  upon  a  recent  arctic  expedition  off  the  coast  of 
Alaska,  and  he  gave  some  interesting  inside  information 
about  an  enterprise  the  published  narrative  of  which  had 
always  seemed  unsatisfactory.  It  was  just  gossip  from  a 
drunken  scamp,  but  it  filled  several  gaps  in  the  book. 

As  we  approached  the  Yukon  we  passed  several  meat 
caches  where  great  quarters  of  beef  sewn  up  in  burlap 
were  piled  on  the  side  of  the  trail.  At  one  of  these  caches 
the  camp-robbers  had  been  at  work  industriously.  They 
had  stripped  the  burlap  from  parts  of  several  quarters, 
exposing  the  fat,  and  had  dug  out  and  carried  it  away 
little  by  little  until  it  was  all  gone.  The  hard-frozen  lean 
probably  defied  their  best  efforts;  at  any  rate,  the  fat 
offered  less  resistance.  But  where  else  in  the  world 
could  men  dump  quarters  of  beef  beside  the  road  and  go 
off  and  leave  them  for  weeks  with  no  more  danger  of 
depredation  than  the  bills  of  birds  can  effect  ? 

A  few  miles  from  the  river  the  rival  road-house  signs 
began  to  appear.  "Patronise  Lewis;  he  cut  this  trail  at 
his  own  expense,"  pleaded  one.    "Why  go  five  miles  out  of 


336    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

your  way,"  sneered  another.  Lewis's  road-house  is  across 
the  wide  Yukon,  and  there  was  no  point  in  crossing  the 
river  save  one's  determination  to  lend  no  countenance  to 
the  spitefulness  of  these  mail  runners.  So  across  the  river 
we  went  and  were  glad  to  be  on  the  Yukon  again.  The 
next  morning  we  encountered  the  same  rival  signs  at  the 
point  where  the  trail  from  Lewis's  joined  the  "mail 
trail." 

Most  of  our  travelling  was  now  upon  the  surface  of 
the  Yukon,  and  four  hundred  and  fifty  miles  of  it  stretched 
ahead  of  us  ere  our  winter's  travel  should  end  at  Fort 
Yukon.  Four  hours  brought  us  to  the  military  telegraph 
station  at  Melozi,  and  we  were  able  to  send  word  ahead 
that  we  were  safely  out  of  the  Kuskokwim  wilderness. 
Then  a  portage  was  crossed  and  then  the  river  pursued 
again  until  with  about  thirty  miles  to  our  credit  we  made 
camp.  The  days  were  lengthening  out  now,  the  weather 
growing  mild,  although  a  keen,  cold,  down-river  breeze 
was  rarely  absent,  and  travel  began  to  be  pleasant  and 
camping  no  hardship.  We  preferred  camping,  on  several 
scores,  when  the  day's  work  had  not  been  too  arduous, 
chief  amongst  them  being  that  it  gave  more  opportu- 
nity and  privacy  for  Walter's  schooling.  He  was  reading 
Treasure  Island  aloud,  and  I  was  getting  as  great  plea- 
sure from  renewing  as  he  from  beginning  an  acquain- 
tance with  that  prince  of  all  pirate  stories.  Kokrines  and 
Mouse  Point  one  day,  the  next  The  Birches;  we  passed 
these  well-known  Yukon  landmarks,  camping,  after  a  run 
of  thirty-eight  miles,  some  six  miles  beyond  the  last- 
named  place,  with  a  run  of  forty-four  miles  before  us  to 


AN  UNTRAVELLED   RIVER  337 

Xanana.  I  judged  it  too  much;  but  the  trail  was  greatly 
improved  and  we  decided  to  attempt  it  in  one  stage.  A 
misreading  of  the  watch,  so  that  I  roused  myself  and  Wal- 
ter at  3.30  A.  M.  instead  of  5.15  a.  m.,  and  did  not  realise 
the  mistake  until  the  fire  was  made  and  it  was  not  worth 
while  returning  to  bed,  gave  us  a  fine  start  and  we  made 
good  progress.  Gold  Mountain  (so  called,  one  supposes, 
because  there  is  no  gold  there;  there  is  no  other  reason), 
Grant  Creek,  "Old  Station"  were  passed  by,  and  at 
length  Tanana  loomed  before  us  while  yet  ten  miles  away. 
In  just  eleven  hours  we  ran  the  forty-four  miles,  making, 
with  three  additional  miles  out  to  the  mission,  forty-seven 
altogether,  by  far  the  longest  journey  of  the  winter.  We 
reached  Tanana  on  the  ist  of  April,  just  six  weeks  since 
we  left. 

We  spent  eight  days  at  Tanana,  including  two  Sun- 
days, Passion  Sunday  and  Palm  Sunday,  but  I  was  under 
an  old  promise  to  spend  Easter  there  also.  Now,  Easter, 
191 1,  fell  on  the  i6th  of  April,  and  for  the  three-hundred- 
mile  journey  to  Fort  Yukon  a  period  of  ten  or  twelve  days 
at  the  least  would  be  necessary,  that  might  easily  stretch 
to  two  weeks.  Travelling  on  the  Yukon  ice  so  late  in 
April  as  this  would  involve  was  not  only  fraught  with 
great  difficulty  and  discomfort,  but  also  with  actual  dan- 
ger, and  I  had  to  beg  to  be  absolved  of  my  promise.  Some 
considerable  preparation  was  on  foot  for  the  festival, 
and  I  was  loath  to  leave,  for  Tanana  was  then  without 
any  resident  minister,  but  it  seemed  foolish  to  take  the 
chances  that  would  have  to  be  taken  if  we  stayed. 

Five  days  of  almost  ceaseless  snow-storm  during  our 


338    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

stay  at  Tanana  did  not  give  prospect  of  good  travelling, 
and,  indeed,  when  we  pulled  out  from  the  mission  on  the 
Monday  in  Holy  Week  there  was  no  sign  of  any  trail. 
From  Tanana  up  to  Fort  Yukon  there  is  very  little  travel; 
since  the  whole  of  this  long  stretch  of  river  was  deprived 
of  winter  mail  a  year  or  two  before,  no  through  travel  at 
all.  Cabins  may  usually  be  found  to  camp  in,  but  there 
are  no  road-houses.    What  travel  still  takes  place  is  local. 

The  journey  divided  itself  into  two  roughly  equal 
parts,  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  through  the  Lower 
Ramparts,  and  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  through  the 
Yukon  Flats,  almost  all  of  it  on  the  surface  of  the  river. 
It  was  hoped  to  reach  Stephen's  Village,  a  native  settle- 
ment just  within  the  second  half  of  the  journey,  for 
Easter. 

Snow  does  not  lie  long  at  rest  upon  the  river  within 
the  Ramparts,  and  particularly  within  the  narrow,  ca- 
non-like stretch  of  seventy-five  miles  from  Tanana  to 
Rampart  City.  Violent  and  almost  ceaseless  down-stream 
winds  sweep  the  deep  defile  in  the  mountains  through 
which  the  river  winds  its  course.  In  places  the  ice  is 
bare  of  snow;  in  places  the  snow  is  piled  in  huge,  hardened 
drifts.  So  strong  and  so  persistent  is  this  wind  that  it 
is  often  possible  to  skate  over  an  uninterrupted  black  sur- 
face of  ice,  polished  like  plate  glass,  for  twenty  miles  on  a 
down-river  journey.  To  make  way  over  such  a  surface 
up-stream,  against  such  wind,  is,  however,  almost  impos- 
sible. The  dogs  get  no  footing  and  the  wind  carries  the 
sled  where  it  listeth.  The  journey  so  far  as  Rampart 
City  has  been  described  before;  it  will  sufl^ice  now  that 


WINb  AND  SNOW  339 

it  took  three  days  of  toilsome  battling  against  wind  and 
bad  surface,  with  nights  spent  upon  the  floor  of  grimy 
cabins.  So  cold  was  the  wind  that  it  is  noted  in  my 
diary  with  surprise,  on  the  12th  of  April,  that  I  had 
worn  fur  cap,  parkee,  and  muffler  all  day,  as  though  it 
had  been  the  dead  of  winter  instead  of  three  weeks  past 
the  vernal  equinox. 

On  Wednesday  night  there  was  Divine  service  at 
Rampart,  and  on  Maundy  Thursday,  after  four  miles 
upon  the  river,  we  took  the  portage  of  eleven  miles  that 
cuts  a  chord  to  the  arc  of  the  greatest  bend  of  the  river 
within  the  Ramparts  and  so  saves  nine  miles.  Three 
miles  more  took  us  to  the  deserted  cabin  at  the  site  of  the 
abandoned  coal-mine  opposite  the  mouth  of  the  Mike 
Hess  River,  here  confluent  with  the  Yukon,  and  in  that 
cabin  we  spent  the  night,  having  had  the  high,  bitter 
wind  in  our  faces  all  day.  We  hated  to  leave  the  shel- 
ter of  the  wooded  portage  and  face  the  blast  of  the  last 
three  miles. 

We  woke  the  next  morning  to  a  veritable  gale  of  wind 
and  snow,  and  lay  in  the  cabin  till  noon,  occupied  with 
the  exercises  of  the  solemn  anniversary.  The  wind 
having  then  abated  somewhat  and  the  snow  ceased,  we 
sallied  forth,  still  hopeful  of  making  Stephen's  Village  for 
Easter.  But  when  we  got  down  upon  the  river  surface 
it  became  doubtful  if  we  could  proceed,  and  as  we  turned 
the  first  bend  we  encountered  a  fresh  gale  that  did  not 
fall  short  of  a  blizzard.  The  air  was  filled  with  flying 
snow  that  stung  our  faces  and  blinded  us.  The  dogs' 
muzzles  became  incrusted  with  snow  and  their  eyes  filled 


340    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

with  it  so  that  it  was  hard  to  keep  them  facing  it.  I 
could  not  see  the  boy  at  all  when  he  was  a  hundred  feet 
ahead  of  the  team.  We  struggled  along  for  four  miles, 
and,  since  it  was  then  evident  that  we  could  not  go  much 
farther  without  useless  risk,  we  turned  to  a  spot  on  the 
bank  where  Walter  knew  another  deserted  cabin  to  stand; 
for  he  knows  every  foot  of  this  section  of  the  river  and 
once  spent  a  summer,  camped  at  the  coal-mine,  fishing. 
The  spot  was  reached,  but  the  cabin  was  gone.  The  fish 
rack  still  stood  there,  but  the  cabin  was  burned  down. 
There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  return  to  the  coal-mine 
cabin;  so,  for  the  first  and  only  time  in  all  my  journey- 
ings,  it  was  necessary  to  abandon  a  day's  march  that  had 
been  entered  upon  and  go  back  whence  we  had  come.  We 
ran  before  the  gale  at  great  speed  and  were  within  the 
cabin  again  by  2.30  p.  m.  All  the  evening  and  all  night 
the  storm  raged,  and  I  was  in  two  minds  about  running 
back  to  Rampart  before  it  for  Easter,  since  it  was  now 
out  of  the  question  to  reach  Stephen's  Village.  If  the 
season  had  not  been  so  far  advanced  this  is  what  I  should 
have  done,  but  it  would  set  us  back  three  days  more  on 
the  journey,  and  on  reflection  I  was  not  willing  to  take 
that  chance  with  the  break-up  so  near. 

So  on  the  morning  of  Easter  Eve  we  sallied  up-stream 
again,  snow  falling  and  driving  heavily,  and  the  wind  still 
strong  but  with  yesterday's  keen  edge  blunted.  By  the 
time  we  had  beaten  around  the  long  bend  up  which  we 
had  fought  our  way  the  day  before,  the  snow  had  ceased, 
and  by  noon  the  wind  had  dropped  and  the  sun  was  shin- 
ing, and  in  a  few  moments  of  his  unobscured  strength  all 


ALASKAN  "FORTS"  341 

the  loose  snow  on  the  sled  was  melted — a  warning  of  the 
rapidity  with  which  the  general  thaw  would  proceed  once 
the  skies  were  clear.  That  night  saw  us  in  the  habitable 
though  dirty,  deserted  cabin  at  Salt  Creek  (so  called,  one 
supposes,  because  the  water  of  it  is  perfectly  fresh)  at 
which  we  had  hoped  to  lodge  the  previous  night. 

Buoyed  by  the  hope  of  doing  a  double  stage  in  a  clear, 
windless  day  and  thus  reaching  Stephen's  Village  for 
service  at  night,  we  made  a  very  early  start  that  beautiful 
Easter  morning.  But  it  was  not  to  be.  Such  trail  as 
there  was  ran  high  up  on  the  bank  ice — level,  doubtless, 
when  it  was  made  much  earlier  in  the  season,  but  now  at  a 
slope  towards  the  middle  of  the  river  through  the  falling 
of  the  water,  and  seamed  with  great  cracks.  Such  a  trail, 
called  a  "sidling"  trail  in  the  vernacular  of  mushing,  is 
always  difficult  and  laborious  to  travel,  for  the  sled  slips 
continually  off  it  into  the  loose  snow  or  the  ice  cracks,  and 
often  for  long  stretches  at  a  time  one  man  must  hold  up 
the  nose  of  the  sled  while  the  other  toils  at  the  handle- 
bars. In  one  place,  while  thus  holding  the  front  of  the 
sled  on  the  trail,  Walter  slipped  into  an  ugly  ice  crack 
concealed  by  drifted  snow,  and  so  wedged  his  foot  that 
I  had  difficulty  in  extricating  him.  The  last  two  bends 
of  the  river  within  the  Ramparts  seemed  interminable 
and  it  was  6.30  p.  m.,  with  twelve  hours'  travel  behind  us, 
when  we  reached  old  Fort  Hamlin,  on  the  verge  of  the 
Yukon  Flats.  These  "forts,"  it  might  be  explained,  if 
one  chose  to  pursue  the  elucidation  of  Alaskan  nomencla- 
ture in  the  same  strain,  are  so  called  because  they  never 
had  any  defences  and  never  needed  any.     As  a  matter  of 


342    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

fact,  in  the  early  days,  when  the  Hudson  Bay  Company 
made  its  first  estabhshments  on  the  upper  river,  there  was 
supposed  to  be  some  need  of  fortification,  and  Fort  Sel- 
kirk and  Fort  Yukon  were  stockaded.  Fort  Selkirk,  in- 
deed, was  sacked  and  burned  sixty  years  ago,  but  not  by 
Yukon  Indians.  The  Chilkats  from  the  coast,  indignant 
at  the  loss  of  their  middle-man  profits  by  the  invasion  of 
the  interior,  crossed  the  mountains,  descended  the  river, 
and  destroyed  the  post.  It  thus  became  customary  to 
call  a  trading-post  a  "  fort,"  and  every  little  point  where 
a  store  and  a  warehouse  stood  was  so  dignified.  Hence 
Fort  Reliance,  Fort  Hamlin,  Fort  Adams. 

For  years  Fort  Hamlin  had  been  quite  deserted,  but 
now  smoke  issued  from  the  stovepipe  and  dogs  gave 
tongue  at  our  approach,  and  we  found  a  white  man  with 
an  Esquimau  wife  from  Saint  Michael  and  a  half-breed 
child  dwelling  there  and  carrying  a  few  goods  for  sale. 
With  him  we  made  our  lodging,  and  with  him  and  his 
family  said  our  evening  service  of  Easter,  and  so  to  bed, 
thoroughly  tired. 

A  mile  beyond  Fort  Hamlin  the  Ramparts  suddenly 
cease  and  the  wide  expanse  of  the  Yukon  Flats  opens  at 
once.  Ten  miles  or  so  brought  us  to  Stephen's  Village, 
where  we  had  been  long  expected  and  where  a  very  busy 
day  was  spent.  A  number  of  Indians  were  gathered  and 
there  were  children  to  baptize  and  couples  to  marry,  as 
well  as  the  lesson  of  the  season  to  teach.  It  was  a  great 
disappointment  that  we  had  been  unable  to  get  here  be- 
fore, and  matter  of  regret  that,  being  here  at  such  labour, 
only  so  short  a  time  could  be  spent.     But  the  closing 


TRAVELLING  BY  NIGHT  343 

season  called  to  us  loudly.  A  mild,  warm  day  set  all  the 
banks  running  with  melting  snow  and  made  the  surface 
of  the  river  mushy.  There  was  really  no  time  to  lose, 
for  the  next  seventy-five  miles  was  to  give  us  the  most 
difficult  and  disagreeable  travelling  of  the  journey.  Here, 
in  the  Flats,  where  is  greatest  need  of  travel  direction  on 
the  whole  river,  was  no  trail  at  all  beyond  part  of  the  first 
day's  journey.  Within  the  Ramparts  the  river  is  con- 
fined in  one  channel;  however  bad  the  travelling  may  be, 
there  is  no  danger  of  losing  the  way;  but  in  the  Flats 
the  river  divides  into  many  wide  channels  and  these  lead 
off  into  many  more  back  sloughs,  with  low,  timbered 
banks  and  no  salient  landmarks  at  all.  Behind  us  were 
the  bluffs  of  the  Ramparts,  already  growing  faint;  afar 
off  on  the  horizon,  to  the  right,  were  the  dim  shapes  of 
the  Beaver  Mountains.  All  the  rest  was  level  for  a 
couple  of  hundred  miles. 

A  local  trail  to  a  neighbouring  wood-chopper's  took  us 
some  twelve  miles,  and  then  we  were  at  a  loss.  The  gen- 
eral direction  we  knew,  and  previous  journeys  both  in 
winter  and  summer  gave  us  some  notion  of  the  river 
bends  to  follow,  but  we  wallowed  and  floundered  until 
late  at  night  before  we  reached  the  cabin  we  were  bound 
for,  the  snow  exceeding  soft  and  wet  for  hours  in  the 
middle  of  the  day. 

The  time  had  plainly  come  to  change  our  day  travel 
into  night  travel,  for  freezing  was  resumed  each  night 
after  the  sun  was  set,  and  the  surface  grew  hard  again. 
So  at  this  cabin  we  lay  all  the  next  day,  with  an  inter- 
esting recluse  of  these  parts  who  knows  many  passages 


344    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

of  Shakespeare  by  heart,  and  who  drew  us  a  chart  of 
our  course  to  the  next  habitation,  marking  every  bend 
to  be  followed  and  the  place  where  the  river  must  be 
crossed.  But  there  is  always  difficulty  in  getting  a 
new  travel  schedule  under  way,  and  we  did  not  leave 
until  five  in  the  morning  instead  of  at  two  as  we  had 
planned.  This  gave  us  insufficient  time  to  make  the 
day's  march  before  the  sun  softened  the  snow,  and  moc- 
casins grew  wet,  and  snow-shoe  strings  began  to  stretch, 
and  the  webbing  underfoot  to  yield  and  sag — and  we 
had  to  content  ourselves  with  half  a  stage.  By  nine  p.  m. 
we  were  off  again  and  did  pretty  well  until  the  night  grew 
so  dark  that  we  could  no  longer  distinguish  our  land- 
marks. Then  we  went  to  the  bank  and  built  a  big  fire 
and  made  a  pot  of  tea  and  sat  and  dozed  around  it  for  a 
couple  of  hours  or  so  until  the  brief  darkness  of  Alaskan 
spring  was  overpast,  and  the  dawn  began  to  give  light 
enough  to  see  our  way  again. 

When  our  course  lay  on  the  open  river,  the  snow  had 
crust  enough  to  hold  us  upon  our  snow-shoes;  but  when  it 
took  us  through  little  sheltered  sloughs,  the  crust  was  too 
thin  and  we  broke  through  all  the  time,  and  that  makes 
slow,  painful  travel.  At  last  we  came  to  a  portage  that 
cuts  off  a  number  of  miles,  but  the  snow  slope  by  which 
the  top  of  the  bank  should  be  reached  had  a  southern 
exposure  and  was  entirely  melted  and  gone.  The  dogs 
had  to  be  unhitched,  the  sled  to  be  unloaded,  the  stuff 
packed  in  repeated  journeys  up  the  steep  bank,  and  the 
sled  hauled  up  with  a  rope.  Then  came  the  repacking 
and  reloading  and  the  rehitching;  and  when  the  portage 


LAST  DAY  345 

was  crossed  the  same  thing  had  to  be  done  to  get  down 
to  the  river  bed  again.  Twice  more  on  that  day  the  proc- 
ess was  gone  through,  and  each  time  it  took  nigh  an  hour 
to  get  up  the  bank,  so  that  it  was  around  noon,  and  the 
snow  miserably  wet  and  mushy  again,  when  we  reached 
Beaver  and  went  to  bed  at  the  only  road-house  between 
Fort  Yukon  and  Tanana. 

"Beaver  City"  owes  its  existence  to  quartz  prospects 
in  the  Chandalar,  in  which  men  of  money  and  influence 
in  the  East  were  interested.  The  Alaska  Road  Com- 
mission had  built  a  trail  some  years  before  from  the 
Chandalar  diggings  out  to  the  Yukon,  striking  the 
river  at  this  point,  and  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river 
another  trail  is  projected  and  "swamped  out"  direct 
to  Fairbanks.  The  opening  up  of  this  route  was  ex- 
pected to  bring  much  travel  through  Beaver,  and  a 
town  site  was  staked  and  many  cabins  built.  But 
"Chandalar  quartz"  remains  an  interesting  prospect, 
and  the  Chandalar  placers  have  not  proved  productive, 
and  all  but  a  few  of  the  cabins  at  "Beaver  City"  are  un- 
occupied. If  "the  Chandalar"  should  ever  make  good, 
"Beaver  City"  will  be  its  river  port. 

We  left  Beaver  at  eleven  p.  m.  on  Friday  night,  hoping 
in  two  long  all-night  runs  to  cover  the  eighty  miles  and 
reach  Fort  Yukon  by  Sunday  morning.  Here  was  the 
first  trail  since  we  left  Stephen's  Village  and  the  first 
fairly  good  trail  since  we  left  Tanana,  for  there  had  been 
some  recent  travel  between  Fort  Yukon  and  Beaver. 
Here  for  the  first  time  we  had  no  need  of  snow-shoes,  and 
when  they  have  been  worn  virtually  all  the  winter  through 


346    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

and  nigh  a  couple  of  thousand  miles  travelled  in  them, 
walking  is  strange  at  first  in  the  naked  moccasin.  It  is  a 
blessed  relief,  however,  to  be  rid  of  even  the  lightest  of 
trail  snow-shoes.  We  stepped  out  gaily  into  a  beautiful 
clear  night,  with  a  sharp  tang  of  frost  in  the  air,  and  even 
the  dogs  rejoiced  in  the  knowledge  that  the  end  of  the 
journey  was  at  hand.  All  night  long  we  made  good  time 
and  kept  it  up  without  a  stop  until  eight  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  when  we  reached  an  inhabited  but  just  then 
unoccupied  cabin  and  ate  supper  or  breakfast  as  one 
chooses  to  call  it  and  went  to  bed,  having  covered  fully 
half  the  distance  to  Fort  Yukon.  About  noon  we  were 
rudely  awakened  by  one  of  the  usual  Alaskan  accompani- 
ments of  approaching  summer.  The  heat  of  the  sun  was 
melting  the  snow  above  us,  and  water  came  trickling 
through  the  dirt  roof  upon  our  bed.  We  moved  to  a 
dry  part  of  the  cabin  and  slept  again  until  the  evening, 
and  at  nine  p.  m.  entered  upon  what  we  hoped  would 
be  our  last  run. 

But  once  more  our  plans  to  spend  Sunday  were  frus- 
trated. The  trail  led  through  dry  sloughs  from  which 
the  advancing  thaw  had  removed  the  snow  in  great 
patches.  Sometimes  the  sled  had  to  be  hauled  over  bare 
sand;  sometimes  wide  detours  had  to  be  made  to  avoid 
such  sand ;  sometimes  pools  of  open  water  covered  with 
only  that  night's  ice  lay  across  our  path.  By  eight 
o'clock  in  the  morning  we  estimated  that  we  were  not 
more  than  seven  or  eight  miles  from  Fort  Yukon.  But 
already  the  snow  grew  soft  and  our  feet  wet,  and  the  dogs 
were  very  weary  with  the  eleven  hours'  mushing.     It 


LAST   DAY  347 

would  take  a  long  time  and  much  toil  to  plough  through 
slush,  even  that  seven  or  eight  miles.  So  I  gave  the  word 
to  stop,  and  we  made  an  open-air  camp  on  a  sunny  bank, 
and  after  breakfast  we  covered  our  heads  in  the  blankets 
from  the  glare  of  the  sun,  and  slept  till  five.  Then  we 
ate  our  last  trail  meal,  and  were  washed  up  and  packed 
up  and  hitched  up  an  hour  and  more  before  the  snow 
was  frozen  enough  for  travel.  A  couple  of  hours* 
run  took  us  to  Fort  Yukon,  and  so  ended  the  winter 
journey  of  191Q-11,  on  the  23d  of  April,  having  been 
started  on  the  17th  of  November.  We  were  back  none 
too  soon.  Every  day  we  should  have  found  travelling 
decidedly  worse.  In  a  few  more  days  the  river  would 
have  begun  to  open  in  places,  and  only  the  middle  would 
be  safe  for  travel,  with  streams  of  water  against  either 
bank  and  no  way  of  getting  ashore.  Seventeen  days  later 
the  ice  was  gone  out  and  the  Yukon  flowing  bank  full. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   NATIVES   OF  ALASKA 

When  one  contemplates  the  native  people  of  the 
interior  of  Alaska  in  the  mass,  when,  with  the  stories  told 
by  the  old  men  and  old  women  of  the  days  before  they 
saw  the  white  man  in  mind,  one  reconstructs  that  primi- 
tive life,  lacking  any  of  the  implements,  the  conveniences, 
the  alleviations  of  civilisation,  the  chief  feeling  that  arises 
is  a  feeling  of  admiration  and  respect. 

What  a  hardy  people  they  must  have  been!  How 
successfully  for  untold  generations  did  they  pit  them- 
selves against  the  rigour  of  this  most  inhospitable  climate! 
With  no  tool  but  the  stone-axe  and  the  flint  knife,  with  no 
weapon  but  the  bow  and  arrow  and  spear,  with  no  mate- 
rial for  fish  nets  but  root  fibres,  or  for  fish-hooks  or  needles 
but  bone,  and  with  no  means  of  fire  making  save  two  dry 
sticks — one  wonders  at  the  skill  and  patient  endurance 
that  rendered  subsistence  possible  at  all.  And  there  fol- 
lows quickly  upon  such  wonder  a  hot  flush  of  indignation 
that,  after  so  conquering  their  savage  environment  or 
accommodating  themselves  to  it,  that  they  not  only  held 
their  own  but  increased  throughout  the  land,  they  should 
be  threatened  with  a  wanton  extermination  now  that 

the  resources  of  civilisation  are  opened  to  them,  now  that 

348 


THE  ATHABASCANS  349 

tools  and  weapons  and  the  knowledge  of  easier  and  more 
comfortable  ways  of  life  are  available. 

The  natives  of  the  interior  are  of  two  races,  the  Indian 
and  the  Esquimau.  The  Indian  inhabits  the  valley  of 
the  Yukon  down  to  within  three  or  four  hundred  miles  of 
its  mouth;  the  Esquimau  occupies  the  lower  reaches 
of  the  Yukon  and  the  Kuskokwim  and  the  whole  of  the 
rivers  that  drain  into  the  Arctic  Ocean  west  and  north. 
These  inland  Esquimaux  are  of  the  same  race  as  the 
coast  Esquimaux  and  constitute  an  interesting  people, 
of  whom  something  has  been  said  in  the  account  of  jour- 
neys through  their  country. 

The  Indians  of  the  interior  are  of  one  general  stock, 
the  Athabascan,  as  it  is  called,  and  of  two  main  languages 
derived  from  a  common  root  but  differing  as  much  per- 
haps as  Spanish  and  Portuguese.  The  language  of  the 
upper  Yukon  (and  by  this  term  in  these  pages  is  meant 
the  upper  American  Yukon)  is  almost  identical  with  the 
language  of  the  lower  Mackenzie,  from  which  region, 
doubtless,  these  people  came,  and  with  it  have  always 
maintained  intercourse.  The  theory  of  the  Asiatic 
origin  of  the  natives  of  interior  Alaska  has  always  seemed 
fanciful  and  far-fetched  to  the  writer.  The  same  trans- 
lations of  the  Bible  and  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer 
serve  for  the  lower  Mackenzie  and  the  upper  Yukon  and 
are  in  active  use  to-day  through  all  that  wide  region, 
despite  minor  dialectical  variations. 

Near  the  lower  ramparts  of  the  Yukon,  at  Stephen's 
Village,  the  language  changes  and  the  new  tongue  main- 
tains itself,  though  with  continually  increasing  dialectical 


3 so    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

differences,  until  the  Indians  overlap  the  Esquimaux,  six 
hundred  miles  farther  down. 

Fort  Yukon  is  the  most  populous  place  on  the  river, 
and  the  last  place  on  the  river,  where  the  upper  language, 
or  Takhud,  is  spoken.  A  stretch  of  one  hundred  and  fifty 
miles  separates  it  from  the  next  native  village,  and  the 
inhabitants  of  that  village  are  not  intelligible  to  the  Fort 
Yukon  Indians — an  unintelligibility  which  seems  to  speak 
of  long  ages  of  little  intercourse. 

The  history  of  the  migrations  of  the  Indians  from  the 
Athabascan  or  Mackenzie  region  is  impossible  to  trace 
now.  It  is  highly  probable  that  the  movement  was  by 
way  of  the  Porcupine  River.  And  it  would  seem  that 
there  must  have  been  two  distinct  migrations:  one  that 
passed  down  the  Yukon  to  the  Tanana  district  and 
spread  thence  up  the  Tanana  River  and  up  the  Koyukuk; 
and  long  after,  as  one  supposes,  a  migration  that  peopled 
the  upper  Yukon.  A  portion  of  this  last  migration  must 
have  gone  across  country  to  the  Ketchumstock  and  the 
upper  Tanana,  for  the  inhabitants  of  the  upper  Tanana 
do  not  speak  the  Tanana  tongue,  which  is  the  tongue  of 
the  Middle  Yukon  but  a  variant  of  the  tongue  of  the 
upper  Yukon. 

How  long  ago  these  migrations  took  place  there  is 
not  the  slightest  knowledge  to  base  even  a  surmise  upon. 
The  natives  themselves  have  no  records  nor  even  tradi- 
tions, and  the  first  point  of  contact  between  white  men 
and  the  natives  of  the  interior  is  within  three  quarters  of 
a  century  ago.     It  may  have  been  two  or  three  families 


AN  INOFFENSIVE  PEOPLE  351 

only  which  penetrated  to  this  region  or  to  that  and  settled 
there,  and  what  pressure  started  them  on  their  wander- 
ings no  one  will  ever  know.  Perhaps  some  venturesome 
hunter  pursuing  his  game  across  the  highlands  that  sep- 
arate the  Mackenzie  from  the  Yukon  was  disabled  and 
compelled  to  remain  until  the  summer,  and  then  discov- 
ered the  salmon  that  made  their  way  up  the  tributaries 
of  the  Porcupine.  The  Mackenzie  has  no  salmon.  Or  a 
local  tribal  quarrel  may  have  sent  fugitives  over  the  divide. 

When  first  the  white  man  came  to  the  upper  Yukon, 
in  1846  and  1847,  no  one  knew  that  it  was  the  same  river 
at  the  mouth  of  which  the  Russians  had  built  Redoubt 
Saint  Michael  ten  or  twelve  years  before.  The  natives  of 
the  upper  river  knew  nothing  about  the  lower  river.  It 
is  an  easy  matter  to  float  down  the  Yukon  for  a  thousand 
miles  in  a  birch-bark  canoe,  but  an  exceedingly  difficult 
matter  to  come  up  again.  It  was  not  until  the  voyageurs 
of  the  Hudson  Bay  Company,  in  their  adventurous  fur- 
trading  expeditions,  met  at  the  mouth  of  the  Tanana 
River  the  agents  of  the  Russian  Fur  Company,  come  up 
from  Nulato  on  the  same  quest,  that  the  identity  of  the 
Yukon  and  Kwikpak  Rivers  was  discovered;  and  that 
seems  to  have  been  well  past  the  middle  of  the  century. 
In  the  map  of  North  America  that  the  writer  first  used 
at  school,  the  Yukon  flowed  north  into  the  Arctic  Ocean, 
parallel  with  the  Mackenzie. 

The  Indians  of  the  interior  of  Alaska  are  a  gentle  and 
kindly  and  tractable  people.  They  have  old  traditions 
of  bloody  tribal  warfare  that  have  grown  in  ferocity,  one 
supposes,  with  the  lapse  of  time,  for  it  is  very  difficult  for 


352    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

one  who  knows  them  to  beUeve  that  so  mild  a  race  could 
ever  have  been  pugnacious  or  bloodthirsty.  Whether  it 
were  that  the  exigencies  of  subsistence  under  arctic  con- 
ditions demanded  almost  all  their  energies,  or  that  a  real- 
isation of  their  constant  dependence  upon  one  another 
checked  the  play  of  passion,  they  differ  most  widely  and, 
it  seems  certain,  always  differed  most  widely  in  character 
from  the  Indians  of  the  American  plains.  A  personal 
knowledge  of  the  greater  part  of  all  the  natives  of  interior 
Alaska,  gained  by  living  amongst  them  and  travelling  from 
village  to  village  during  seven  or  eight  years,  furnishes  but 
a  single  instance  of  an  Indian  man  guilty  of  any  sort  of 
violence  against  another  Indian  or  against  a  white  man — • 
except  under  the  influence  of  liquor. 

It  is  true  that  there  are  unquestioned  murders  that 
have  been  committed — murders  of  white  men  at  that; 
but  in  the  sixty  years  from  the  Nulato  massacre  of  1851, 
over  the  whole  vast  interior,  these  crimes  can  be  counted 
on  the  fingers  of  one  hand.  They  are  not  a  revengeful 
people.  They  do  not  cherish  the  memory  of  injuries  and 
await  opportunities  of  repayment ;  that  trait  is  foreign  to 
their  character.  On  the  contrary,  they  are  exceedingly 
placable  and  bear  no  malice.  Moreover,  they  are  very 
submissive,  even  to  the  point  of  being  imposed  upon. 
In  fact,  they  are  decidedly  a  timid  people  in  the  matter  of 
personal  encounter.  In  all  these  characteristics  they 
differ  from  the  North  American  Indian  generally  as  he 
appears  in  history. 

They  are  capable  of  hard  work,  though  apparently 
not  of  continuous  hard  work;  they  will  cheerfully  support 


SEXUAL  MORALITY  353 

great  privation  and  fatigue;  but  when  the  immediate 
necessity  is  past  they  enjoy  long  periods  of  feasting  and 
leisure.  Having  no  property  nor  desire  of  property,  save 
their  clothes,  their  implements  and  weapons,  and  the  rude 
furnishings  of  their  cabins,  there  is  no  incentive  to  hard 
and  continuous  work. 

After  all,  where  is  the  high  and  peculiar  virtue  that 
lies  in  the  performance  of  continuous  hard  work?  Why 
should  any  one  labour  incessantly  ?  This  is  the  question 
the  Indian  would  ask,  and  one  is  not  always  sure  that 
the  mills  of  Massachusetts  and  the  coal-mines  of  Penn- 
sylvania return  an  entirely  satisfactory  answer.  As  re- 
gards thrift,  the  Indian  knows  little  of  it;  but  the  average 
white  man  of  the  country  does  not  know  much  more. 
There  is  little  difference  as  regards  thrift  between  wasting 
one's  substance  in  a  "potlatch,"  which  is  a  feast  for  all 
comers,  and  wasting  it  in  drunkenness,  which  is  a  feast 
for  the  liquor  sellers,  save  that  one  is  barbarous  and  the 
other  civilised,  as  the  terms  go. 

It  would  seem  that  the  general  timidity  of  the  native 
character  is  the  reason  for  a  very  general  untruthfulness, 
though  there  one  must  speak  with  qualification  and  ex- 
ception. There  are  Indians  whose  word  may  be  taken  as 
unhesitatingly  as  the  word  of  any  white  man,  and  there 
are  white  men  in  the  country  whose  word  carries  no  more 
assurance  than  the  word  of  any  Indian.  The  Indian  is 
prone  to  evasion  and  quibbling  rather  than  to  downright 
lying,  though  there  are  many  who  are  utterly  unreliable 
and  untrustworthy. 

In  the  matter  of  sexual  morality  the  Indian  standards 


354    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

are  very  low,  though  certainly  not  any  lower  than  the 
standards  of  the  average  white  man  in  the  country.  One 
is  forced  to  this  constant  comparison;  the  white  man  in 
the  country  is  the  only  white  man  the  Indian  knows  any- 
thing about.  To  the  Indian  a  physical  act  is  merely  a 
physical  act;  all  down  his  generations  there  has  been  no 
moral  connotation  therewith,  and  it  is  hard  to  change  the 
point  of  view  of  ages  when  it  affects  personal  indulgence 
so  profoundly.  The  white  man  has  been  taught,  down  as 
many  ages,  perhaps,  that  these  physical  acts  have  moral 
connotation  and  are  illicit  when  divorced  therefrom,  yet 
he  is  as  careless  and  immoral  in  this  country  as  the  Indian 
is  careless  and  unmoral.  And  the  white  man's  careless 
and  immoral  conduct  is  the  chief  obstacle  which  those 
who  would  engraft  upon  the  Indian  the  moral  conscious- 
ness must  contend  against. 

The  Indian  woman  is  not  chaste  because  the  Indian 
man  does  not  demand  chastity  of  her,  does  not  set  any 
special  value  upon  her  chastity  as  such.  And  the  ex- 
ample of  the  chastity  which  the  white  man  demands  of 
his  women,  though  he  be  not  chaste  himself,  is  an  exam- 
ple with  which  the  native  of  Alaska  has  not  come  much 
into  contact.  Too  often,  in  the  vicinity  of  mining  camps, 
the  white  women  who  are  most  in  evidence  are  of  an- 
other class. 

The  Indian  is  commonly  intelligent  and  teachable,  and 
in  most  cases  eager  to  learn  and  eager  that  his  children 
may  learn.  Here  it  becomes  necessary  to  deal  with  a 
difficult  and  somewhat  contentious  matter  that  one  would 
rather  let  alone.     The  government  has  undertaken  the 


GOVERNMENT  SCHOOLS  355 

education  of  the  Indian,  and  has  set  up  a  bureau  charged 
with  the  estabUshment  and  conduct  of  native  schools. 

There  are  five  such  schools  on  the  Yukon  between 
Eagle  and  Tanana,  including  these  two  points,  amongst 
Indians  all  of  whom  belong  to  the  Episcopal  Church,  and 
five  more  between  Tanana  and  Anvik,  amongst  natives 
divided  in  allegiance  between  the  Episcopal  and  the 
Roman  Catholic  Churches.  Below  Anvik  to  the  river's 
mouth  the  natives  are  divided  between  the  Roman  and 
the  Greek  Churches,  and  they  are  outside  the  scope  of  this 
book.  On  the  tributaries  of  the  Yukon  the  only  native 
schools  are  conducted  by  the  missions  of  the  Episcopal 
Church,  on  the  Koyukuk  and  Tanana  Rivers,  and  have 
no  connection  with  the  government. 

When,  somewhat  late  in  the  day,  the  government  set 
its  hand  to  the  education  of  the  natives,  mission  schools 
had  been  conducted  for  many  years  at  the  five  stations  of 
the  Episcopal  Church  above  Tanana  and  at  the  various 
mission  stations  below  that  point.  The  Bureau  of  Educa- 
tion professed  its  earnest  purpose  of  working  in  harmony 
with  the  mission  authorities,  and  upon  this  profession  it 
secured  deeds  of  gift  for  government  school  sites  within 
the  mission  reservations  from  the  Bishop  of  Alaska. 

It  cannot  be  stated,  upon  a  survey  of  the  last  five  or 
six  years,  that  this  profession  has  been  carried  out. 
The  administration  of  the  Bureau  of  Education  has 
shared  too  much  the  common  fault  of  other  departments 
of  the  government  in  a  detached  and  lofty,  not  to  say 
supercilious,  attitude.  Things  are  not  necessarily  right 
because  a  government  bureau  orders  them,  nor  are  gov- 


356    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

ernment  officials  invested  with  superior  wisdom  merely 
by  reason  of  their  connection  with  Washington.  It  is 
just  as  important  for  a  government  school  as  for  a  mis- 
sion school  to  be  in  harmony  with  its  environment,  to 
adapt  itself  to  the  needs  of  the  people  it  designs  to  serve; 
and  that  harmony  and  adaptation  may  only  be  secured 
by  a  single-minded  study  of  the  situation  and  of  the 
habits  and  character,  the  occupations  and  resources  of 
the  people. 

To  keep  a  school  in  session  when  the  population  of  a 
village  is  gone  on  its  necessary  occasions  of  hunting  or 
trapping,  and  to  have  the  annual  recess  when  all  the 
population  is  returned  again,  is  folly,  whoever  orders  it, 
in  accord  with  what  time-honoured  routine  soever,  and 
this  has  not  infrequently  been  done.  Moreover,  it  is 
folly  to  fail  to  recognise  that  the  apprenticeship  of  an 
Indian  boy  to  the  arts  by  which  he  must  make  a  living, 
the  arts  of  hunting  and  trapping,  is  more  important  than 
schooling,  however  important  the  latter  may  be,  and  that 
any  talk — and  there  has  been  loud  talk — of  a  compul- 
sory education  law  which  shall  compel  such  boys  to  be 
in  school  at  times  when  they  should  be  off  in  the  wilds 
with  their  parents,  is  worse  than  mere  folly,  and  would, 
if  carried  out,  be  a  fatal  blunder.  If  such  boys  grow  up 
incompetent  to  make  a  living  out  of  the  surrounding 
wilderness,  whence  shall  their  living  come  ? 

The  next  step  would  be  the  issuing  of  rations,  and 
that  would  mean  the  ultimate  degradation  and  extinc- 
tion of  the  natives.  When  the  question  is  stated  in  its 
baldest  terms,  is  the  writer  perverse  and  barbarous  and 


The  mission  type. 


Wild  and  shy. 


THE  THREAT  OF  EXTINCTION  357 

uncivilised  if  he  avow  his  belief  that  a  race  of  hardy, 
peaceful,  independent,  self-supporting  illiterates  is  of  more 
value  and  worthy  of  more  respect  than  a  race  of  literate 
paupers?  Be  it  remembered  also  that  many  of  these 
"illiterates"  can  read  the  Bible  in  their  own  tongue  and 
can  make  written  communication  with  one  another  in 
the  same — very  scornful  as  the  officials  of  the  bureau 
have  been  about  such  attainment.  One  grows  a  little 
impatient  sometimes  when  a  high  official  at  Washington 
writes  in  response  to  a  request  for  permission  to  use  a 
school  building  after  school  hours,  for  a  class  of  instruc- 
tion in  the  native  Bible,  that  the  law  requires  that  all 
instruction  in  the  school  be  in  the  English  language,  and 
that  it  is  against  the  policy  of  Congress  to  use  public 
money  for  religious  instruction!  When  the  thermom- 
eter drops  to  50°  below  zero  and  stays  there  for  a  couple 
of  weeks,  it  is  an  expensive  matter  to  heat  a  church  for 
a  Bible  class  three  times  a  week — and  the  schoolhouse 
is  already  cosy  and  warm. 

But  the  question  does  not  reduce  itself  to  the  bald 
terms  referred  to  above;  by  proper  advantage  of  times 
and  seasons  the  Indian  boy  may  have  all  the  English 
education  that  will  be  of  any  service  to  him,  and  may 
yet  serve  his  apprenticeship  in  the  indispensable  wilder- 
ness arts.  And,  given  a  kindly  and  competent  teacher, 
there  is  no  need  of  any  sort  of  compulsion  to  bring  In- 
dian boys  and  girls  to  school  when  they  are  within  reach 
of  it. 

The  Indian  school  problem  is  not  an  easy  one  in  the 
sense  that  it  can  be  solved  by  issuing  rules  and  regula- 


358    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

tions  at  Washington,  but  it  can  be  solved  by  sympathetic 
study  and  by  the  careful  selection  of  intelligent,  cultured 
teachers. 

After  all,  this  last  is  the  most  important  requisite. 
Too  often  it  is  assumed  that  any  one  can  teach  ignorant 
youth:  and  women  with  no  culture  at  all,  or  with  none 
beyond  the  bald  "pedagogy"  of  a  low-grade  schoolroom, 
have  been  sent  to  Alaska.  There  have,  indeed,  been 
notable  exceptions;  there  have  been  some  very  valuable 
and  capable  teachers,  and  with  such  there  has  never 
been  friction  at  the  missions,  but  glad  co-operation. 

The  situation  shows  signs  of  improvement;  there 
are  signs  of  withdrawal  from  its  detached  and  super- 
cilious attitude  on  the  part  of  the  bureau,  signs  which 
are  very  welcome  to  those  connected  with  the  missions. 
For  the  best  interest  of  the  native  demands  that  the  two 
agencies  at  work  for  his  good  work  heartily  and  sympa- 
thetically together.  The  missions  can  do  without  the 
government — did  do  without  it  for  many  years,  though 
glad  of  the  government's  aid  in  carrying  the  burden  of 
the  schools — but  the  government  cannot  do  without  the 
missions;  and  if  the  missions  were  forced  to  the  re-estab- 
lishment of  their  own  schools,  there  would  be  empty 
benches  in  the  schools  of  the  government. 

That  the  Indian  race  of  interior  Alaska  is  threatened 
with  extinction,  there  is  unhappily  little  room  to  doubt; 
and  that  the  threat  may  be  averted  is  the  hope  and 
labour  of  the  missionaries  amongst  them.  At  most 
places  where  vital  statistics  are  kept  the  death-rate  ex- 
ceeds the  birth-rate,  though  it  is  sometimes  very  difficult 


DWELLING  AND  CLOTHING  359 

to  secure  accurate  statistics  and  to  be  sure  that  they 
always  cover  the  same  ground.  The  natives  wander; 
within  certain  territorial  limits  they  wander  widely. 
Whenever  a  child  is  born  it  is  certain  that  if  it  lives  long 
enough  it  will  be  brought  to  a  mission  to  be  baptized, 
but  a  death  often  occurs  at  some  isolated  camp  that  is 
not  reported  till  long  after,  and  may  escape  registra- 
tion altogether. 

Certain  diseases  that  have  played  havoc  in  the  past 
are  not  much  feared  now.  For  the  last  seven  years  sup- 
plies of  the  diphtheritic  antitoxin  have  been  kept  at  all 
the  missions  of  the  Episcopal  Church,  and  in  the  sum- 
mer of  191 1,  when  there  was  an  outbreak  of  smallpox  at 
Porcupine  River,  almost  every  Indian  of  interior  Alaska 
was  vaccinated,  mainly  by  the  mission  staffs.  Diph- 
theria has  been  a  dreadful  scourge.  The  valley  of  the 
upper  Kuskokwim  was  almost  depopulated  by  it  in  1906. 
A  disease  resembling  measles  took  half  the  population 
of  the  lower  Yukon  villages  in  1900.  In  the  last  few 
years  there  have  been  no  serious  epidemics;  but  epi- 
demic disease  does  not  constitute  the  chief  danger  that 
threatens  the  native. 

That  chief  danger  looms  from  two  things:  tubercu- 
losis and  whisky.  Whether  tuberculosis  is  a  disease 
indigenous  to  these  parts,  or  whether  it  was  introduced 
with  the  white  man,  has  been  disputed  and  would  be 
difficult  of  determination.  Probably  it  was  always  pres- 
ent amongst  the  natives;  the  old  ones  declare  that  it  was; 
but  the  changed  conditions  of  their  lives  have  certainly 
much  aggravated  it.     They  lived  much  more  in  the  open 


36o    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

when  they  had  no  tree-felUng  tool  but  a  stone-axe  and 
did  not  build  cabins.  The  winter  residence  in  those  days 
was,  it  is  true,  a  dark,  half-underground  hut  covered 
with  earth  and  poles,  but  the  time  of  residence  therein 
was  much  shorter;  the  skin  tent  sheltered  them  most  of 
the  year.  Indeed,  some  tribes,  such  as  the  Chandalar, 
lived  in  their  skin  tents  the  year  round.  Now  an  ill- 
ventilated  and  very  commonly  overcrowded  cabin  shelters 
them  most  of  the  year.  It  is  true  that  the  cabins  are 
constantly  improving  and  the  standard  of  living  within 
them  is  constantly  rising.  The  process  is  slow,  despite 
all  urgings  and  warnings,  and  overcrowding  and  lack  of 
ventilation  still  prevail. 

Perhaps  as  great  a  cause  of  the  spread  of  tuberculosis 
is  the  change  in  clothing.  The  original  native  was  clad 
in  skins,  which  are  the  warmest  clothing  in  the  world. 
Moose  hide  or  caribou  hide  garments,  tanned  and  smoked, 
are  impervious  to  the  wind,  and  a  parkee  of  muskrat  or 
squirrel,  or,  as  was  not  uncommon  in  the  old  days,  of 
marten,  or  one  of  caribou  tanned  with  the  hair  on,  with 
boots  of  this  last  material,  give  all  the  warmth  that  ex- 
posure to  the  coldest  weather  requires.  Nowadays  fur 
garments  of  any  sort  are  not  usual  amongst  the  natives. 
There  is  a  market,  at  an  ever-growing  price,  for  all  the 
furs  they  can  procure.  A  law  has,  indeed,  gone  recently 
into  effect  prohibiting  the  sale  of  beaver  for  a  term  of 
years,  and  already  beaver  coats  and  caps  begin  to  appear 
again  amongst  the  people.  It  would  be  an  excellent,  wise 
thing,  worthy  of  a  government  that  takes  a  fatherly 
interest  in  very  childlike  folks,  to  make  this  law  perma- 


0^ 


THE  INDIAN  TRADER  361 

nent.  If  it  were  fit  to  prohibit  the  sale  of  beaver  pelts 
for  a  term  of  years  to  protect  the  beaver,  surely  it  would 
be  proper  to  perpetuate  the  enactment  to  protect  the 
Indian.  It  would  mean  warm  clothing  for  man,  woman, 
and  child. 

The  Indian  usually  sells  all  his  furs  and  then  turns 
round  and  buys  manufactured  clothing  from  the  trader 
at  a  fancy  price.  That  clothing  is  almost  always  cotton 
and  shoddy.  Genuine  woollens  are  not  to  be  found  in 
the  Indian  trader's  stock  at  all,  and  in  whatever  guise  it 
may  masquerade,  and  by  whatever  alias  it  may  pass,  the 
native  wear  is  cotton.  Yet  there  is  no  country  in  the 
world  where  it  is  more  imperative,  for  the  preservation 
of  health,  that  wool  be  worn. 

However  much  fur  the  Indian  may  catch  and  sell,  he 
is  always  poor.  He  is  paid  in  trade,  not  in  cash;  and 
when  the  merchant  has  bought  the  Indian's  catch  of  fur 
he  straightway  spreads  out  before  him  an  alluring  dis- 
play of  goods  specially  manufactured  for  native  trade. 
Here  are  brilliant  cotton  velvets  and  satteens  and  tin- 
selled muslins  and  gay  ribbons  that  take  the  eye  of  his 
women  folk;  here  are  trays  of  Brummagem  knickknacks, 
brass  watches,  and  rings  set  with  coloured  glass,  gorgeous 
celluloid  hair  combs,  mirrors  with  elaborate,  gilded  frames, 
and  brass  lamps  with  *' hand-painted"  shades  and  dan- 
gling lustres;  here  are  German  accordions  and  mouth- 
organs  and  all  sorts  of  pocket-knives  and  alarm-clocks — 
the  greatest  collection  of  glittering  and  noisy  trash  that 
can  be  imagined,  bought  at  so  much  a  dozen  and  retailed, 
usually,  at  about  the  same  price  for  one.     And  when  the 


362    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

Indian  has  done  his  trading  the  trader  has  most  of  his 
money  back  again. 

The  news  that  an  Indian  has  caught  a  black  fox,  the 
most  exciting  item  of  news  that  ever  flies  around  a  native 
village,  does  not  give  any  great  pleasure  to  one  who  is 
acquainted  with  native  conditions,  because  he  knows 
that  it  will  bring  little  real  benefit  to  the  Indian.  There 
will  be  keen  competition,  within  limits,  of  course,  amongst 
the  traders  for  it;  and  the  fortunate  trapper  may  get 
three  or  four  hundred  dollars  in  trade  for  a  skin  that  will 
fetch  eight  hundred  or  a  thousand  in  cash  on  the  London 
market ;  but  if  his  wife  get  the  solid  advantage  of  a  new 
cooking-stove  or  a  sewing-machine  from  it  she  is  doing 
well. 

Food  the  Indian  never  buys  much  beyond  his  present 
need,  unless  it  is  to  squander  it  in  feast  after  feast,  to 
which  every  one  is  invited  and  at  which  there  is  the  great- 
est lavishness.  If  a  son  is  born,  or  a  black  fox  is  caught, 
or  a  member  of  the  family  recovers  from  a  severe  illness, 
custom  permits,  if  it  do  not  actually  demand,  that  a 
"potlatch"  be  given,  and  most  Indians  are  eager,  when- 
ever they  are  able,  to  be  the  heroes  of  the  prandial  hour. 

So  he,  his  women,  and  his  children  go  clad  mainly  in 
cotton,  and  there  is  abundant  evidence  that  the  tendency 
to  pulmonary  trouble,  always  latent  amongst  them,  is 
developed  by  the  severe  colds  which  they  catch  through 
the  inadequate  covering  of  their  bodies,  and  is  then  cher- 
ished into  virulent  activity  by  the  close  atmosphere  of 
overcrowded,  overheated  cabins. 

The  missions  help  the  Indians,  especially  the  women 


An  Esquimau  youth. 


A   KALF-BREED    INDIAN. 


UNPAID  COMMISSIONERS  363 

and  children,  in  this  matter  of  clothing  as  much  as  pos- 
sible. Every  year  large  bales  of  good  though  left-off 
under  and  over  wear  are  secured  through  church  organi- 
sations outside,  and  are  traded  to  the  natives  at  nominal 
prices,  usually  for  fish  or  game  or  a  little  labour  in  sawing 
wood.  And  this  naturally  does  not  ingratiate  missions 
with  the  trading  class.  One's  anger  is  aroused  sometimes 
at  seeing  the  cotton-flannel  underclothes  and  "cotton- 
filled"  blankets  and  the  "all-wool"  cotton  coats  and 
trousers  which  they  pay  high  prices  for  at  the  stores. 
The  Canadian  Indians,  who  are  their  neighbours,  buy 
genuine  Hudson  Bay  blankets  and  other  real  woollen 
goods,  but  the  Alaskan  Indian  can  buy  nothing  but  cot- 
ton. 

But  far  and  away  beyond  any  other  cause  of  the  native 
decline  stands  the  curse  of  the  country,  whisky.  Recog- 
nising by  its  long  Indian  experience  the  consequences  of 
forming  liquor-drinking  habits  amongst  the  natives,  the 
government  has  forbidden  under  penalty  the  giving  or 
selling  of  any  intoxicants  to  them.  A  few  years  ago  a 
new  law  passed  making  such  giving  or  selling  a  felony. 
These  laws  are  largely  a  dead  letter. 

The  country  is  a  very  large  one,  very  sparsely  popu- 
lated; the  distances  are  enormous,  the  means  of  trans- 
portation entirely  primitive,  and  the  police  and  legal 
machinery  insufficient  to  the  end  of  suppressing  this  illicit 
traffic,  especially  in  view  of  the  fact  that  a  considerable 
part  of  the  whole  population  does  not  look  with  favour 
upon  any  vigorous  attempt  to  suppress  it.  Great  areas 
of  the  country  are  without  telegraphic  communication. 


364    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

and  in  parts  mail  is  received  only  once  a  month.  One 
stretch  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  miles  of  the  Yukon 
receives  no  mail  at  all  during  the  winter  months — more 
than  half  the  year.  In  that  instance,  as  in  many  others, 
the  country  has  gone  distinctly  backward  in  the  past 
few  years.  The  magistrates — "commissioners"  they  are 
called,  receive  no  salary,  but  eke  out  a  precarious  and 
often  wretched  existence  on  fees,  so  that  it  is  frequently 
impossible  to  get  men  of  character  and  capacity  to  accept 
such  offices. 

One  would  have  supposed  that  amongst  all  the  legis- 
lating that  has  been  done  for  and  about  Alaska  in  the 
last  year  or  two,  one  crying  evil  that  the  attention  of 
successive  administrations  has  been  called  to  for  twenty 
years  past  would  have  been  remedied.  That  evil  is  the 
unpaid  magistrate  and  the  vicious  fee  system  by  which 
he  must  make  a  living.  It  is  a  system  that  has  been  abol- 
ished in  nearly  all  civilised  countries;  a  system  that  lends 
itself  to  all  sorts  of  petty  abuse;  a  system  that  no  one  pre- 
tends to  defend.  No  greater  single  step  in  advance  could 
be  made  in  the  government  of  Alaska,  no  measure  could 
be  enacted  that  would  tend  to  bring  about  in  greater 
degree  respect  for  the  law  than  the  abolition  of  the  unpaid 
magistracy  and  the  setting  up  of  a  body  of  stipendiaries 
of  character  and  ability. 

The  anomalies  of  the  present  situation  are  in  some 
cases  amusing.  At  one  place  on  the  Yukon  it  is  only 
possible  for  a  man  to  make  a  living  as  United  States  com- 
missioner if  he  can  combine  the  office  of  postmaster  with 
it.     A  man  who  was  removed  as  commissioner  still  re- 


LIQUOR  AND   POLITICS  365 

tained  the  post-office,  and  no  one  could  be  found  to  accept 
the  vacant  judgeship.  In  another  precinct  the  commis- 
sioner was  moving  all  those  whom  he  thought  had  influ- 
ence to  get  him  appointed  deputy  marshal  instead  of 
commissioner,  because  the  deputy  marshal  gets  a  salary 
of  two  thousand  dollars  a  year  and  allowances,  which  was 
more  than  the  commissionership  yielded.  One  is  re- 
minded of  some  comic-opera  topsyturvyism  when  the 
judge  tries  in  vain  to  get  off  the  bench  and  be  appointed 
constable.  It  sounds  like  the  Bab  Ballads.  The  district 
court  is  compelled  to  wink  at  irregularities  of  life  and 
conduct  in  its  commissioners  because  it  cannot  get  men 
of  a  higher  stamp  to  accept  its  appointments. 

The  only  policemen  are  deputy  United  States  marshals, 
primarily  process-servers  and  not  at  all  fitted  in  the 
majority  of  cases  for  any  sort  of  detective  work.  Their 
appointment  is  often  dictated  and  their  action  often 
hampered  by  political  considerations.  The  liquor  in- 
terest is  very  strong  and  knows  how  to  bring  pressure 
to  bear  against  a  marshal  who  is  offensively  active. 
They  are  responsible  only  to  the  United  States  marshal 
of  their  district,  and  he  is  responsible  to  the  attorney- 
general,  the  head  of  the  department  of  justice.  But 
Washington  is  a  long  way  off,  and  the  attorney-general  is 
a  very  busy  man,  not  without  his  own  interest,  moreover, 
in  politics.  An  attempt  to  get  some  notice  taken  of  a 
particular  case  in  which  it  was  the  general  opinion  that 
an  energetic  and  vigilant  deputy  had  been  removed,  and 
an  elderly  lethargic  man  substituted,  because  of  too  great 
activity  in  the  prosecution  of  liquor  cases,  resulted  in  the 


366    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

conviction  that  what  should  have  been  a  matter  of  ad- 
ministrative righteousness  only  was  a  political  matter  as 
well. 

The  threatened  extinction  of  the  Alaskan  native  was 
referred  to  as  wanton,  and  the  term  was  used  in  the  sense 
that  there  are  no  necessary  natural  causes  fighting  against 
his  survival. 

Here  is  no  economic  pressure  of  white  settlers  deter- 
mined to  occupy  the  land,  such  as  drove  the  Indians  of 
the  plains  farther  and  farther  west  until  there  was  no 
more  west  to  be  driven  to.  If  such  delusion  possess  any 
mind  as  a  result  of  foolish  newspaper  and  magazine  writ- 
ings, let  it  be  dismissed  at  once.  No  man  who  has  lived 
in  the  country  and  travelled  in  the  country  will  counte- 
nance such  notion.  The  white  men  in  Alaska  are  miners 
and  prospectors,  trappers  and  traders,  wood-choppers 
and  steamboat  men.  Around  a  mining  camp  will  be 
found  a  few  truck-farmers;  alongside  road-houses  and 
wood  camps  will  often  be  found  flourishing  vegetable 
gardens,  but  outside  of  such  agriculture  there  are,  speak- 
ing broadly,  no  farmers  at  all  in  the  interior  of  Alaska. 
Probably  a  majority  of  all  the  homesteads  that  have  been 
taken  up  have  been  located  that  the  trees  on  them  might 
be  cut  down  and  hauled  to  town  to  be  sold  for  fire-wood. 
A  few  miles  away  from  the  towns  there  are  no  homesteads, 
except  perhaps  on  a  well-travelled  trail  where  a  man  has 
homesteaded  a  road-house. 

All  the  settlements  in  the  country  are  on  the  rivers, 
save  the  purely  mining  settlements  that  die  and  are 
abandoned  as  the  placers  play  out.     Yet  one  will  travel 


An  aged  couple. 


FOOD  AND   FURS  367 

two  hundred  and  fifty  miles  up  the  Porcupine — till 
Canada  is  reached — and  pass  not  more  than  three  white 
men's  cabins,  all  of  them  trappers;  one  will  travel  three 
hundred  and  fifty  miles  up  the  Koyukuk  before  the  first 
white  man's  cabin  is  reached,  and  as  many  miles  up  the 
Innoko  and  the  Iditerod  and  find  no  white  men  save 
wood-choppers.  There  are  a  few  more  white  men  on 
the  Xanana  than  on  any  other  tributary  of  the  Yukon, 
because  Fairbanks  is  on  that  river  and  there  is  more 
steamboat  traffic,  but  they  are  mainly  wood-choppers, 
while  on  the  lesser  tributaries  of  the  Yukon,  it  is  safe  to 
say,  there  are  no  settled  white  men  at  all.  As  soon  as  one 
leaves  the  rivers  and  starts  across  country  one  is  in  the 
uninhabited  wilderness. 

The  writer  is  no  prophet;  he  cannot  tell  what  may 
happen  agriculturally  in  Alaska  or  the  rest  of  the  arctic 
regions  when  the  world  outside  is  filled  up  and  all  un- 
frozen lands  are  under  cultivation.  Still  less  is  he  one 
who  would  belittle  a  country  he  has  learned  to  love  or  de- 
tract in  any  way  from  its  due  claims  to  the  attention  of 
mankind.  There  is  in  the  territory  a  false  newspaper  sen- 
timent that  every  one  who  lives  in  the  land  should  be  con- 
tinually singing  extravagant  praises  of  it  and  continually 
making  extravagant  claims  for  it.  A  man  may  love  Alaska 
because  he  believes  it  to  have  "vast  agricultural  possibili- 
ties," because,  in  his  visions,  he  sees  its  barren  wilds  trans- 
formed into  "waving  fields  of  golden  grain."  But  a  man 
may  also  love  it  who  regards  all  such  visions  as  delusions. 

The  game  and  the  fish  of  Alaska,  the  natural  subsis- 
tence of  the  Indian,  are  virtually  undiminished.     Vast 


368    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

herds  of  caribou  still  wander  on  the  hills,  and  far  more  are 
killed  every  year  by  wolves  than  by  men.  Great  num- 
bers of  moose  still  roam  the  lowlands.  The  rivers  still 
teem  with  salmon  and  grayling  and  the  lakes  with  white- 
fish,  ling,  and  lush.  Unless  the  outrage  of  canneries 
should  be  permitted  at  the  mouths  of  the  Yukon — and 
that  would  threaten  the  chief  subsistence  of  all  the 
Indians  of  the  interior — there  seems  no  danger  of  per- 
manent failure  of  the  salmon  run,  though,  of  course,  it 
varies  greatly  from  year  to  year.  Furs,  though  they 
diminish  in  number,  continually  rise  in  price.  There 
are  localities,  it  is  true,  where  the  game  has  been  largely 
killed  off  and  the  furs  trapped  out;  the  Koyukuk  coun- 
try is  one  of  them,  though  perhaps  that  region  never  was 
a  very  good  game  country.  In  this  region,  when  a  few 
years  ago  there  was  a  partial  failure  of  the  salmon,  there 
was  distress  amongst  the  Indians.  But  the  country  on 
the  whole  is  almost  as  good  an  Indian  country  as  ever  it 
was,  and  there  are  few  signs  that  it  tends  otherwise, 
though  things  happen  so  quickly  and  changes  come  with 
so  little  warning  in  Alaska  that  one  does  not  like  to  be 
too  confident. 

The  Indian  is  the  only  settled  inhabitant  of  interior 
Alaska  to-day;  for  the  prospectors  and  miners,  who 
constitute  the  bulk  of  the  white  population,  are  not  often 
very  long  in  one  place.  Many  of  them  might  rightly 
be  classed  as  permanent,  but  very  few  as  settled  in- 
habitants. It  is  the  commonest  thing  to  meet  men  a 
thousand  miles  away  from  the  place  where  one  met 
them  last.     A  new  "strike"  will  draw  men  from  every 


FOOD  AND   FURS  369 

mining  camp  in  Alaska.  A  big  strike  will  shift  the 
centre  of  gravity  of  the  whole  white  population  in  a 
few  months.  Indeed,  a  certain  restless  belief  in  the 
superior  opportunities  of  some  other  spot  is  one  of  the 
characteristics  of  the  prospector.  The  tide  of  white 
men  that  has  flowed  into  an  Indian  neighbourhood 
gradually  ebbs  away  and  leaves  the  Indian  behind  with 
new  habits,  with  new  desires,  with  new  diseases,  with 
new  vices,  and  with  a  varied  assortment  of  illegiti- 
mate half-breed  children  to  support.  The  Indian  re- 
mains, usually  in  diminished  numbers,  with  impaired 
character,  with  lowered  physique,  with  the  tag-ends  of 
the  white  man's  blackguardism  as  his  chief  acquirement 
in  English — but  he  remains. 

It  is  unquestionable  that  the  best  natives  in  the  coun- 
try are  those  that  have  had  the  least  intimacy  with  the 
white  man,  and  it  follows  that  the  most  hopeful  and  prom- 
ising mission  stations  are  those  far  up  the  tributary 
streams,  away  from  mining  camps  and  off  the  routes  of 
travel,  difficult  of  access,  winter  or  summer,  never  seen 
by  tourists  at  all;  seen  only  of  those  who  seek  them  with 
cost  and  trouble.  At  such  stations  the  improvement  of 
the  Indian  is  manifest  and  the  population  increases.  By 
reason  of  their  remoteness  they  are  very  expensive  to 
equip  and  maintain,  but  they  are  well  worth  while.  One 
such  has  been  described  on  the  Koyukuk;  another,  at 
this  writing,  is  establishing  with  equal  promise  at  the 
Tanana  Crossing,  one  of  the  most  difficult  points  to  reach 
in  all  interior  Alaska. 

This  chapter  must  not  close  without  a  few  words 


370    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

about  the  native  children.  Dirty,  of  course,  they  almost 
always  are;  children  in  a  state  of  nature  will  always  be 
dirty,  and  even  those  farthest  removed  from  that  state 
show  a  marked  tendency  to  revert  to  it ;  but  when  one  has 
become  sufficiently  used  to  their  dirt  to  be  able  to  ignore 
it,  they  are  very  attractive.  Intolerance  of  dirt  is  largely 
an  acquired  habit  anyway.  In  view  of  their  indulgent 
rearing,  for  Indian  parents  are  perhaps  the  most  indulgent 
in  the  world,  they  are  singularly  docile;  they  have  an 
affectionate  disposition  and  are  quick  and  eager  to  learn. 
Many  of  them  are  very  pretty,  with  a  soft  beauty  of  com- 
plexion and  a  delicate  moulding  of  feature  that  are  lost 
as  they  grow  older.  It  takes  some  time  to  overcome 
their  shyness  and  win  their  confidence,  but  when  friendly 
relations  have  been  established  one  grows  very  fond 
of  them.  Foregathering  with  them  again  is  distinctly 
something  to  look  forward  to  upon  the  return  to  a  mis- 
sion, and  to  see  them  come  running,  to  have  them  press 
around,  thrusting  their  little  hands  into  one's  own  or 
hanging  to  one's  coat,  is  a  delight  that  compensates  for 
much  disappointment  with  the  grown  ups.  In  the  midst 
of  such  a  crowd  of  healthy,  vivacious  youngsters,  clear- 
eyed,  clean-limbed,  and  eager,  one  positively  refuses  to  be 
hopeless  about  the  race. 


CHAPTER  XII 

PHOTOGRAPHY   IN  THE   ARCTIC 

There  is  no  country  in  which  an  anastigmatic  lens  is 
of  more  use  to  the  photographer  than  Alaska,  and  every 
camera  with  which  it  is  hoped  to  take  winter  scenes  should 
have  this  equipment.  During  two  or  three  months  in  the 
year  it  makes  the  difference  in  practice  between  getting 
photographs  and  getting  none.  In  theory  one  may  always 
set  up  a  tripod  and  increase  length  of  exposure  as  light 
diminishes.  But  the  most  interesting  scenes,  the  most 
attractive  effects  often  present  themselves  under  the 
severest  conditions  of  weather,  and  he  must  be  an  en- 
thusiast, indeed,  who  will  get  his  tripod  from  the  sled,  pull 
out  its  telescoped  tubes,  set  it  up  and  adjust  it  for  a 
picture  with  the  thermometer  at  40°  or  50°  below  zero; 
and  when  he  is  done  he  is  very  likely  to  be  a  frozen 
enthusiast. 

With  an  anastigmatic  lens  working  at,  say  f.  6-3,  and 
with  a  "speed"  film  (glass  plates  are  utterly  out  of  the 
question  on  the  trail),  it  is  possible  to  make  a  snap-shot  at 
one  twenty-fifth  of  a  second  on  a  clear  day,  around  noon, 
even  in  the  dead  of  winter,  in  any  part  of  Alaska  that 
the  writer  has  travelled  in.  There  are  those  who  write 
that  they  can  always  hold  a  camera  still  enough  to  get  a 

sharp  negative  at  even  one  tenth  of  a  second.      Probably 

371 


372    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

the  personal  equation  counts  largely  in  such  a  matter, 
and  a  man  of  very  decided  phlegmatic  temperament  may 
have  advantage  over  his  more  sanguine  and  nervous 
brother.  The  thing  may  be  done;  the  writer  has  done 
it  himself;  but  the  point  is  it  cannot  be  depended  on; 
at  this  speed  three  out  of  four  of  his  exposures  will  be 
blurred,  whereas  at  one  twenty-fifth  of  a  second  a  sharp, 
clear  negative  may  always  be  secured. 

It  may  be  admitted  at  once  that  at  extremely  low 
temperatures  the  working  of  any  shutter  becomes  doubt- 
ful, and  most  of  them  go  out  of  any  reliable  action  alto- 
gether. After  trying  and  failing  completely  with  three  or 
four  of  the  more  expensive  makes  of  shutters,  the  writer 
has  for  the  last  few  years  used  a  '* Volute"  with  general 
satisfaction,  though  in  the  great  cold  even  that  shutter 
(from  which  all  trace  of  grease  or  oil  was  carefully  removed 
by  the  makers)  is  somewhat  slowed  up,  so  that  a  rare  ex- 
posure at  50°  or  60°  below  zero  would  be  made  at  an  indi- 
cated speed  of  one  fiftieth  rather  than  at  one  twenty-fifth, 
taking  the  chance  of  an  under-exposed  rather  than  a 
blurred  negative.  To  wish  for  a  shutter  of  absolute  cor- 
rectness and  of  absolute  dependability  under  all  circum- 
stances, arranged  for  exposures  of  one  fifteenth  and  one 
twentieth  as  well  as  one  tenth  and  one  twenty-fifth,  is 
probably  to  wish  for  the  unobtainable. 

The  care  of  the  camera  and  the  films,  exposed  and 
unexposed,  the  winter  through,  when  travelling  on  the 
Alaskan  trail,  is  a  very  important  and  very  simple  mat- 
ter, though  not  generally  learned  until  many  negatives 
have  been  spoiled  and  sometimes  lenses  injured.     It  may 


CARE  OF  FILMS  AND  CAMERAS  373 

be  summed  up  in  one  general  rule — keep  instrument  and 
films  always  outdoors. 

One  unfamiliar  with  arctic  conditions  would  not  sup- 
pose that  much  trouble  would  be  caused  by  that  arch- 
enemy of  all  photographic  preparations  and  apparatus — 
damp,  in  a  country  where  the  thermometer  rarely  goes 
above  freezing  the  winter  through;  and  that  is  a  just  con- 
clusion provided  such  things  be  kept  in  the  natural  tem- 
perature, outdoors.  But  consider  the  great  range  of 
temperature  when  the  thermometer  stands  at  —50°  out- 
doors, and,  say,  75°  indoors.  Here  is  a  difference  of  125°. 
Anything  wooden  or  metallic,  especially  anything  metal- 
lic, brought  into  the  house  immediately  condenses  the 
moisture  with  which  the  warm  interior  atmosphere  is 
laden  and  becomes  in  a  few  moments  covered  with  frost. 
Gradually,  as  the  article  assumes  the  temperature  of  the 
room,  the  frost  melts,  the  water  is  absorbed,  and  the 
damage  is  done  as  surely  as  though  it  had  been  soused  in 
a  bucket.  If  it  be  necessary  to  take  camera  and  films 
indoors  for  an  interior  view — which  one  does  somewhat 
reluctantly — the  films  must  be  taken  at  once  to  the  stove 
and  the  camera  only  very  gradually;  leaving  the  latter  on 
the  floor,  the  coldest  part  of  the  room,  for  a  while  and 
shifting  its  position  nearer  and  nearer  until  the  frost  it 
has  accumulated  begins  to  melt,  whereupon  it  should  be 
placed  close  to  the  heat  that  the  water  may  evaporate  as 
fast  as  it  forms. 

Outdoors,  camera  and  films  alike  are  perfectly  safe, 
however  intense  the  cold.  Indeed,  films  keep  almost 
indefinitely  in  the  cold  and  do  not  deteriorate  at  all. 


374    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

One  learns,  by  and  by,  to  have  all  films  sent  sealed  up  in 
tin  cans,  and  to  put  them  back  and  seal  them  up  again  when 
exposed,  despite  the  maker's  instructions  not  to  do  so. 
The  maker  knows  the  rules,  but  the  user  learns  the  excep- 
tions. When  films  are  thus  protected  they  may  be  taken 
indoors  or  left  out  indifferently,  as  no  moist  air  can  get 
to  them. 

The  rule  given  is  one  that  all  men  in  this  country  fol- 
low with  firearms.  They  are  always  left  outdoors,  and 
no  iron  will  rust  outdoors  in  the  winter.  Unless  a  man 
intend  to  take  his  gun  to  pieces  and  clean  it  thoroughly, 
he  never  brings  it  in  the  house.  The  writer  has  on  several 
occasions  removed  an  exposed  film  and  inserted  a  new 
one  outdoors,  using  the  loaded  sled  for  a  table,  at  50° 
below  zero;  taking  the  chance  of  freezing  his  fingers 
rather  than  of  ruining  the  film.  It  is  an  interesting  exer- 
cise in  dexterity  of  manipulation.  Everything  that  can 
be  done  with  the  mittened  hand  is  done,  the  material  is 
placed  within  easy  reach — then  off  with  the  mittens  and 
gloves,  and  make  the  change  as  quickly  as  may  be! 

There  is  just  one  brief  season  in  the  year  when  high 
speeds  of  shutters  may  be  used:  in  the  month  of  April, 
when  a  new  flurry  of  snow  has  put  a  mantle  of  dazzling 
whiteness  upon  the  earth  and  the  sun  mounts  compara- 
tively high  in  the  heavens.  Under  such  circumstances 
there  is  almost,  if  not  quite,  tropical  illumination.  Here  is 
a  picture  of  native  football  at  the  Allakaket,  just  north  of 
the  Arctic  Circle,  made  late  in  April  with  a  Graflex,  fitted 
with  a  lens  working  at  f.  4.5,  at  the  full  speed  of  its 
focal-plane  shutter — one  one-thousandth  of  a  second.     In 


EFFECT  OF  COLD  ON  EMULSIONS         375 

five  years'  use  that  was  the  only  time  when  that  speed  was 
used,  or  any  speed  above  one  two-hundred-and-fiftieth. 
Commonly,  even  in  summer,  many  more  exposures  are 
made  with  it  at  one  fiftieth  than  at  one  one-hundredth, 
for  this  is  not  a  brightly  lit  country  in  summer,  and  nearly 
all  visitors  and  tourists  find  their  negatives  much  under- 
timed. 

The  Graflex,  though  unapproached  in  its  own  sphere, 
is  not  a  good  all-round  camera,  despite  confident  asser- 
tions to  the  contrary.  It  is  too  bulky  to  carry  at  all  in 
the  winter,  and  its  mechanism  is  apt  to  refuse  duty  in  the 
cold.  The  3A  Graflex  cannot  be  turned  to  make  a  per- 
pendicular photograph,  but  must  always  be  used  with  the 
greatest  dimension  horizontal.  Except  in  brilliant  sun- 
shine it  is  difficult  to  get  a  sharp  focus,  and,  even  though 
the  focus  appear  sharp  on  the  ground  glass,  the  negative 
may  prove  blurred.  Then  the  instrument  is  a  great  dust 
catcher  and  seems  to  have  been  constructed  with  a  per- 
verse ingenuity  so  as  to  make  it  as  difficult  as  possible  to 
clean. 

The  writer  uses  his  Graflex  almost  solely  for  native 
portraits  and  studies,  for  which  purpose  it  is  admirable, 
and  has  enabled  him  to  secure  negatives  that  he  could 
not  have  obtained  with  any  other  hand  camera.  Even 
in  the  summer,  however,  he  always  carries  his  3A  Folding 
Pocket  Kodak  as  well,  and  uses  it  instead  of  the  Graflex 
for  landscapes  and  large  groups.  If  he  had  to  choose 
between  the  two  instruments  and  confine  himself  to  one, 
he  would  unhesitatingly  choose  the  Folding  Pocket  Kodak. 

The  difficulties  of  winter  photography  in  Alaska  do 


376    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

not  end  with  the  making  of  the  exposure.  All  water 
must  be  brought  up  in  a  bucket  from  a  water-hole  in 
the  river,  and  though  it  be  clear  water  when  it  is  dipped 
up  from  under  the  ice,  it  is  chiefly  ice  by  the  time  it 
reaches  the  house,  during  any  cold  spell.  One  learns  to 
be  very  economical  of  water  when  it  is  procured  with  such 
difficulty,  learns  to  dry  prints  with  blotting-paper  be- 
tween the  successive  washings,  which  is  the  best  way  of 
washing  with  the  minimum  of  water.  Blotting-paper  is 
decidedly  cheaper  than  water  under  some  circumstances. 

While  the  rivers  run  perfectly  clear  and  bright  under 
the  ice  in  the  winter,  in  summer  the  turbid  water  of 
nearly  all  our  large  streams  introduces  another  difficulty, 
and  photographic  operation  must  sometimes  be  deferred 
for  weeks,  unless  the  rain  barrels  be  full  or  enough  ice 
be  found  in  the  ice-house,  over  and  above  the  domestic 
needs,  to  serve. 

It  seems  certain  that  the  speed  of  the  sensitive  emul- 
sions with  which  the  films  are  covered  is  reduced  in  very 
cold  weather.  To  determine  whether  or  not  this  was  so, 
the  following  experiments  were  resorted  to.  The  camera 
was  brought  out  of  the  house  half  an  hour  before  noon, 
at  50°  below  zero,  and  an  exposure  made  immediately. 
Then  the  camera  was  left  in  position  for  an  hour  and  an- 
other exposure  made.  There  was  little  difference  in  the 
strength  of  the  negatives,  and  what  difference  there  was 
seemed  in  favour  of  the  second  exposure.  Evidently,  if 
the  emulsion  had  slowed,  the  shutter  had  slowed  also;  so 
opportunity  was  awaited  to  make  a  more  decisive  test. 
When  there  remained  but  one  exposure  on  a  roll  of  film. 


INDIANS  AND   PHOTOGRAPHS  377 

the  camera  was  set  outdoors  at  a  temperature  of  55° 
below  zero  and  left  for  an  hour.  Then  an  exposure  was 
made  and  the  film  wound  up  and  withdrawn;  while  a 
new  film,  just  brought  from  the  house,  was  as  quickly  as 
possible  inserted  in  its  place  and  a  second  exposure  made. 
The  latter  was  appreciably  stronger.  Even  this  test  is, 
of  course,  not  entirely  conclusive;  one  would  have  to  be 
quite  sure  that  the  emulsions  were  identical;  but  it  con- 
firms the  writer's  impression  that  extreme  cold  slows  the 
film.  It  would  be  an  easy  matter  for  the  manufacturers 
to  settle  this  point  beyond  question  in  a  modern  labora- 
tory, and  it  is  certainly  worth  doing. 

There  is  much  sameness  about  winter  scenes  in  Alaska, 
as  the  reader  has  doubtless  already  remarked;  yet  the 
sameness  is  more  due  to  a  lack  of  alertness  in  the  photog- 
rapher than  to  an  absence  of  variety.  If  the  traveller 
had  nothing  to  think  about  but  his  camera,  if  all  other 
considerations  could  be  subordinated  to  the  securing  of 
negatives,  then,  here  as  elsewhere,  the  average  merit  of 
pictures  would  be  greater.  Sometimes  the  most  inter- 
esting scenes  occur  in  the  midst  of  stress  of  difficult  travel 
when  there  is  opportunity  for  no  more  than  a  fleeting 
recognition  of  their  pictorial  interest.  "Tight  places" 
often  make  attractive  pictures,  but  most  commonly  do 
not  get  made  into  pictures  at  all.  The  study  of  the  as- 
pects of  nature  is  likely  to  languish  amidst  the  severe 
weather  of  the  Northern  winter,  and  the  bright,  clear,  mild 
day  gets  photographed  into  undue  prominence.  Snow  is 
more  or  less  white  and  spruce-trees  in  the  mass  are  more 
or  less  black;  one  dog  team  is  very  like  another;  a  native 


378    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

village  has  to  be  known  very  well,  indeed,  to  be  distinguish- 
able from  another  native  village.  Yet  there  is  individu- 
ality, there  is  distinction,  there  is  variety,  there  is  contrast, 
if  a  man  have  but  the  grace  to  recognise  them  and  the 
zeal  to  record  them.  Snow  itself  has  infinite  variety; 
trees,  all  of  them,  have  characters  of  their  own.  Dogs 
differ  as  widely  as  men  and  Indians  as  widely  as  white 
men. 

The  fear  of  the  camera,  or  the  dislike  of  the  camera, 
that  used  to  affect  the  native  mind  is  gone  now,  save, 
perhaps,  in  certain  remote  quarters,  and  these  interesting 
people  are  generally  quite  willing  to  stand  still  and  be 
snapped.  They  ask  for  a  print,  and  upon  one's  next 
visit  there  is  clamorous  demand  for  "picter,  picter."  A 
famous  French  physician  said  that  his  dread  of  the  world 
to  come  lay  in  his  expectation  that  the  souls  he  met  would 
reproach  him  for  not  having  cured  a  certain  obstinate 
malady  that  he  had  much  repute  in  dealing  with;  so  the 
travelling  amateur  in  photography  sometimes  feels  his 
conscience  heavy  under  a  load  of  promised  pictures  that 
he  has  forgotten  or  has  been  unable  to  make.  He  feels 
that  his  native  friends  whom  he  shall  meet  in  the  world 
to  come  will  assuredly  greet  him  with  *'where's  my 
picture?"  The  burden  increases  all  the  time,  and  the 
Indian  never  forgets.  It  avails  nothing  even  to  explain 
that  the  exposure  was  a  failure.  A  picture  was  promised ; 
no  picture  has  been  given;  that  is  as  far  as  the  native  gets. 
And  the  making  of  extra  prints,  in  the  cases  where  it  is 
possible  to  make  them,  is  itself  quite  a  tax  upon  time  and 
material. 


INDIANS  AND   PHOTOGRAPHS  379 

Just  as  it  is  true  that  to  be  well  informed  on  any 
subject  a  man  must  read  a  great  deal  and  be  content  not 
to  have  use  for  a  great  deal  that  he  reads,  so  to  secure 
good  photographs  of  spots  and  scenes  of  note  as  he 
travels,  he  must  make  many  negatives  and  be  content 
to  destroy  many.  The  records  of  a  second  visit  in  better 
weather  or  at  a  more  favourable  season  will  supersede 
an  earlier;  typical  groups  more  casual  ones.  The  stand- 
ard that  he  exacts  of  himself  rises  and  work  he  was  con- 
tent with  contents  him  no  more.  Sometimes  one  is 
tempted  to  think  that  the  main  difference  between  an 
unsuccessful  and  a  successful  amateur  photographer  is 
that  the  former  hoards  all  his  negatives  while  the  latter 
relentlessly  burns  those  which  do  not  come  up  to  the 
mark — if  not  at  once,  yet  assuredly  by  and  by.  So  the 
surprise  that  one  feels  at  many  of  the  illustrations  in 
modern  books  of  arctic  travel  is  not  that  the  travellers 
made  such  poor  photographs  but  that  they  kept  them 
and  used  them;  for  there  can  be  no  question  that  poor 
photographs  are  worse  than  none  at  all. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

THE  NORTHERN  LIGHTS 

The  Northern  Lights  are  a  very  common  phenomenon 
of  interior  Alaska,  much  more  common  than  in  the  very 
high  latitudes  around  the  North  Pole,  for  it  has  been 
pretty  well  determined  that  there  is  an  auroral  pole,  just 
as  there  is  a  magnetic  pole  and  a  pole  of  cold,  none  of 
which  coincides  with  the  geographical  Pole  itself.  All  the 
arctic  explorers  seem  agreed  that  north  of  the  8oth  par- 
allel these  appearances  are  less  in  frequency  and  bril- 
liance than  in  the  regions  ten  or  fifteen  degrees  farther 
south.  It  may  be  said  roundly  that  it  is  a  rare  thing  in 
winter  for  a  still,  clear  night, when  there  is  not  much  moon, 
to  pass  without  some  auroral  display  in  the  interior  of 
Alaska.  As  long  as  we  have  any  night  at  all  in  the  early 
summer,  and  as  soon  as  we  begin  to  have  night  again  late 
in  the  summer,  they  may  be  seen;  so  that  one  gains  the 
impression  that  the  phenomenon  occurs  the  year  round 
and  is  merely  rendered  invisible  by  the  perpetual  daylight 
of  midsummer. 

The  Alaskan  auroras  seem  to  divide  themselves  into 
two  great  classes,  those  that  occupy  the  whole  heavens 
on  a  grand  scale  and  appear  to  be  at  a  great  distance 
above  the  earth,  and  those  that  are  smaller  and  seem 

much  closer.     Inasmuch  as  a  letter  written  from  Fort 

380 


A  GENERAL  AURORA  381 

Yukon  to  a  town  in  Massachusetts  describing  one  of  the 
former  class  brought  a  reply  that  on  the  same  night  a 
brilliant  aurora  was  observed  there  also,  it  would  seem 
that  auroras  on  the  grand  scale  are  visible  over  a  large 
part  of  the  earth's  surface  at  once,  whereas  the  lesser 
manifestations,  though  sometimes  of  great  brilliance  and 
beauty,  give  one  the  impression  of  being  local. 

One  gets,  unfortunately,  so  accustomed  to  this  light  in 
the  sky  in  Alaska  that  it  becomes  a  matter  of  course  and 
is  little  noticed  unless  it  be  extraordinarily  vivid.  Again, 
often  very  splendid  displays  occur  in  the  intensely  cold 
weather,  when,  no  matter  how  warmly  one  may  be  clad, 
it  is  impossible  to  stand  still  long  outdoors,  and  outdoors 
an  observer  must  be  to  follow  the  constant  movement 
that  accompanies  the  aurora.  Moreover,  there  is  some- 
thing very  tantalising  in  the  observing,  for  it  is  impos- 
sible to  say  at  what  moment  an  ordinary  waving  auroral 
streamer  that  stretches  its  greenish  milky  light  across  the 
sky,  beautiful  yet  commonplace,  may  burst  forth  into  a 
display  of  the  first  magnitude,  or  if  it  will  do  so  at  all. 

The  winter  traveller  has  the  best  chance  for  observing 
this  phenomenon,  because  much  of  his  travel  is  done 
before  daylight,  and  often  much  more  than  he  desires  or 
deserves  is  done  after  daylight;  while,  if  his  journeys  be 
protracted  so  long  as  snow  and  ice  serve  for  passage  at 
all,  towards  spring  he  will  travel  entirely  at  night  instead 
of  by  day. 

It  is  intended  in  this  chapter  merely  to  attempt  a 
description  of  a  few  of  the  more  striking  auroral  displays 
that  the  writer  has  seen,  the  accounts  being  transcribed 


382    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

from  journals  written  within  a  few  hours,  at  most,  from 
the  time  of  occurrence,  and  in  the  first  case  written  so 
soon  as  he  went  indoors. 

This  was  on  the  6th  of  October,  1904,  at  Fairbanks,  a 
little  removed  from  the  town  itself.  When  first  the 
heavens  were  noticed  there  was  one  clear  bow  of  milky 
light  stretching  from  the  northern  to  the  southern  horizon, 
reflected  in  the  broken  surface  of  the  river,  and  glistening 
on  the  ice  cakes  that  swirled  down  with  the  swift  cur- 
rent. Then  the  southern  end  of  the  bow  began  to  twist 
on  itself  until  it  had  produced  a  queer  elongated  cork- 
screw appearance  half-way  up  to  the  zenith,  while  the 
northern  end  spread  out  and  bellied  from  east  to  west. 
Then  the  whole  display  moved  rapidly  across  the  sky 
until  it  lay  low  and  faint  on  the  western  horizon,  and  it 
seemed  to  be  all  over.  But  before  one  could  turn  to 
go  indoors  a  new  point  of  light  appeared  suddenly  high 
up  in  the  sky  and  burst  like  a  pyrotechnic  bomb  into 
a  thousand  pear-shaped  globules  with  a  molten  centre 
flung  far  out  to  north  and  south.  Then  began  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  celestial  exhibitions  that  the  writer 
has  ever  seen.  These  globules  stretched  into  ribbon 
streamers,  dividing  and  subdividing  until  the  whole  sky 
was  filled  with  them,  and  these  ribbon  streamers  of 
greenish  opalescent  light  curved  constantly  inward  and 
outward  upon  themselves,  with  a  quick  jerking  movement 
like  the  cracking  of  a  whip,  and  every  time  the  ribbons 
curved,  their  lower  edges  frayed  out,  and  the  fringe  was 
prismatic.  The  pinks  and  mauves  flashed  as  the  ribbon 
curved  and  frayed — and  were  gone.     There  was  no  other 


A  LOCAL  AURORA  383 

colour  In  the  whole  heavens  save  the  milky  greenish-white 
light,  but  every  time  the  streamers  thrashed  back  and 
forth  their  under  edges  fringed  into  the  glowing  tints  of 
mother-of-pearl.  Presently,  the  whole  display  faded  out 
until  it  was  gone.  But,  as  we  turned  again  to  seek  the 
warmth  of  the  house,  all  at  once  tiny  fingers  of  light  ap- 
peared all  over  the  upper  sky,  like  the  flashing  of  spicules 
of  alum  under  a  microscope  when  a  solution  has  dried  to 
the  point  of  crystallisation,  and  stretched  up  and  down, 
lengthening  and  lengthening  to  the  horizon,  and  gather- 
ing themselves  together  at  the  zenith  into  a  crown. 
Three  times  this  was  repeated;  each  time  the  light  faded 
gradually  but  completely  from  the  sky  and  flashed  out 
again  instantaneously. 

For  a  full  hour,  until  it  was  impossible  to  stand  gaz- 
ing any  longer  for  the  cold,  the  fascinating  display  was 
watched,  and  how  much  longer  it  continued  cannot  be 
said.  It  was  a  grand  general  aurora,  high  in  the  heavens, 
not  vividly  coloured  save  for  the  prismatic  fringes,  but  of 
brilliant  illumination,  and  remarkable  amongst  all  the 
auroras  observed  since  for  its  sudden  changes  and  star- 
tling climaxes.  Draped  auroras  are  common  in  this  coun- 
try, though  it  has  been  wrongly  stated  that  they  are  only 
seen  near  open  seas,  but  their  undulations  are  generally 
more  deliberate  and  their  character  maintained;  this  one 
flashed  on  and  off  and  changed  its  nature  as  though  some 
finger  were  pressing  buttons  that  controlled  the  electrical 
discharges  of  the  universe.  Yet  it  was  noticed  that  even 
in  its  brightest  moments  the  light  of  the  stars  could  be 
seen  through  it. 


384    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

The  next  aurora  to  be  described  was  of  a  totally  dif- 
ferent kind.  It  occurred  on  the  i8th  of  March,  1905. 
The  writer,  with  an  Indian  attendant,  was  travelling  on 
the  Koyukuk  River  from  Coldfoot  to  Bettles,  and,  owing 
to  a  heavy,  drifted  trail,  night  had  fallen  while  yet  the 
road-house  was  far  away.  There  was  no  moon  and  the 
wind-swept  trail  was  wholly  indistinguishable  from  the 
surrounding  snow,  yet  to  keep  on  the  trail  was  the  only 
chance  of  going  forward  at  all,  for  whenever  the  toboggan 
slid  off  into  the  deep,  soft  snow  it  came  to  a  standstill 
and  had  to  be  dragged  laboriously  back  again.  A  good 
leader  would  have  kept  the  trail,  but  we  had  none  such 
amongst  our  dogs  that  year.  Thus,  slowly,  we  went  along 
in  the  dark,  continually  missing  the  trail  on  this  side  and 
on  that.  We  did  not  know  on  which  bank  of  the  river  the 
road-house  was  situated,  for  it  was  our  first  journey  in 
those  parts.  We  only  knew  the  trail  would  take  us  there 
could  we  follow  it.  All  at  once  a  light  burst  forth,  seem- 
ingly not  a  hundred  yards  above  our  heads,  that  lit  up 
that  trail  like  a  search-light  and  threw  our  shadows  black 
upon  the  snow.  There  was  nothing  faint  and  fluorescent 
about  that  aurora;  it  burned  and  gleamed  like  magnesium 
wire.  And  by  its  light  we  were  able  to  see  our  path  dis- 
tinctly and  to  make  good  time  along  it,  until  in  a  mile  or 
two  we  were  gladdened  by  the  sight  of  the  candle  shining 
in  the  window  of  the  road-house  and  were  safe  for  the 
night. 

Now,  one  does  not  really  know  that  this  was  an  aurora 
at  all,  save  that  there  was  nothing  else  it  could  have  been. 
It  was  a  phenomenon  altogether  apart  from  the  one  first 


A  RED  AURORA  385 

described ;  not  occupying  the  vault  of  heaven,  streaming 
from  horizon  to  zenith;  not  remote  and  majestic.  There 
was  really  little  opportunity  to  observe  it  at  all;  one's 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  trail  it  illumined,  anxious  not  to 
set  foot  to  the  right  or  left.  Save  for  an  occasional  glance 
upward,  we  saw  only  its  reflected  light  upon  the  white 
expanse  beneath.  It  was  simply  a  streak  of  light  right 
above  our  heads,  holding  steadily  in  position,  though 
fluctuating  a  little  in  strength — a  light  to  light  us  home, 
that  is  what  it  was  to  us.  And  it  was  the  most  surprising 
and  opportune  example  of  what  has  been  referred  to  here 
as  the  local  aurora  that  eight  winters  have  aff^orded. 
The  most  opportune  but  not  the  most  beautiful;  the 
next  to  be  described,  though  of  the  local  order,  was  the 
most  striking  and  beautiful  manifestation  of  the  Northern 
Lights  the  writer  has  ever  seen.  It  was  that  rare  and 
lovely  thing — a  coloured  aurora — all  of  one  rich  deep  tint. 
It  was  on  the  nth  of  March,  1907,  on  the  Chandalar 
River,  a  day's  march  above  the  gap  by  which  that  stream 
enters  the  Yukon  Flats  and  five  days  north  of  Fort 
Yukon.  A  new  ^'strike"  had  been  made  on  the  Chanda- 
lar, and  a  new  town,  "Caro,"  established; — abandoned 
since.  All  day  long  we  had  been  troubled  and  hindered 
by  overflow  water  on  the  ice,  saturating  the  snow,  an 
unpleasant  feature  for  which  this  stream  is  noted;  and 
when  night  fell  and  we  thought  we  ought  to  be  approach- 
ing the  town,  it  seemed  yet  unaccountably  far  off.  At 
last,  in  the  darkness,  we  came  to  a  creek  that  we  decided 
must  surely  be  Flat  Creek,  near  the  mouth  of  which  the 
new  settlement  stood;  and  at  the  same  time  we  came  to 


386    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

overflow  water  so  deep  that  it  covered  both  ice  and  snow 
and  looked  dangerous.  So  the  dogs  were  halted  while 
the  Indian  boy  went  ahead  cautiously  to  see  if  the  town 
were  not  just  around  the  bend,  and  the  writer  sat  down, 
tired,  on  the  sled.  While  sitting  there,  all  at  once,  from 
the  top  of  the  mountainous  bluff  that  marked  the  mouth 
of  the  creek,  a  clear  red  light  sprang  up  and  spread  out 
across  the  sky,  dyeing  the  snow  and  gleaming  in  the  water, 
lighting  up  all  the  river  valley  from  mountain  to  moun- 
tain with  a  most  beautiful  carmine  of  the  utmost  intensity 
and  depth.  In  wave  after  wave  it  came,  growing  brighter 
and  brighter,  as  though  some  gigantic  hand  on  that 
mountain  top  were  flinging  out  the  liquid  radiance  into 
the  night.  There  was  no  suggestion  of  any  other  colour, 
it  was  all  pure  carmine,  and  it  seemed  to  accumulate  in 
mid-air  until  all  the  landscape  was  bathed  in  its  effulgence. 
And  then  it  gradually  died  away.  The  native  boy  was 
gone  just  half  an  hour.  It  began  about  five  minutes  after 
he  left  and  ended  about  five  minutes  before  he  returned, 
so  that  its  whole  duration  was  twenty  minutes.  There 
had  been  no  aurora  at  all  before ;  there  was  nothing  after, 
for  his  quest  had  been  fruitless,  and,  since  we  would  not 
venture  that  water  in  the  dark,  we  made  our  camp  on 
the  bank  and  were  thus  two  hours  or  more  yet  in  the 
open.  The  boy  had  stopped  to  look  at  it  himself,  "long 
time,"  as  he  said,  and  declared  it  was  the  only  red  aurora 
he  had  ever  seen  in  his  twenty  odd  years'  life.  It  was  a 
very  rare  and  beautiful  sight,  and  it  was  hard  to  resist 
that  impression  of  a  gigantic  hand  flinging  liquid  red 
fire  from  the  mountain  top  into  the  sky.     Its  source 


A  GRAND  GENERAL  DISPLAY  387 

seemed  no  higher  than  the  mountain  top — seemed  to  be 
the  mountain  top  itself — and  its  extent  seemed  confined 
within  the  river  valley. 

There  is  only  one  other  that  shall  be  described, 
although  there  are  many  mentioned  with  more  or  less 
particularity  in  the  diaries  of  these  travels.  And  this 
last  one  is  of  the  character  of  the  first  and  not  at  all  of 
the  second  and  third,  for  it  was  on  the  grand  scale,  filling 
all  the  heavens,  a  phenomenon,  one  is  convinced,  of  an 
order  distinct  and  different  from  the  local,  near-at-hand 
kind.  There  was  exceptionally  good  opportunity  for 
observing  this  display,  since  it  occurred  during  an  all- 
night  journey,  the  night  of  the  6th  of  April,  191 2,  with 
brilliant  starlight  but  no  moon  while  we  were  hastening 
to  reach  Eagle  for  Easter. 

We  had  made  a  new  traverse  from  the  Tanana  to  the 
Yukon,  through  two  hundred  miles  of  uninhabited  coun- 
try, and  had  missed  the  head  of  the  creek  that  would  have 
taken  us  to  the  latter  river  in  thirty  miles,  dropping  into 
one  that  meandered  for  upward  of  a  hundred  before  it 
discharged  into  the  great  river.  It  was  one  o'clock  on 
Good  Friday  morning  when  we  reached  a  road-house  on 
the  Yukon  eighty  miles  from  Eagle.  The  only  chance  to 
keep  the  appointment  was  to  travel  all  the  two  remaining 
nights.  So  we  cached  almost  all  our  load  at  the  road- 
house,  for  we  should  retrace  our  steps  when  Eagle  was 
visited,  and  thus  were  able  to  travel  fast. 

Both  nights  were  marked  by  fine  auroral  displays,  so 
extensive  and  of  such  apparent  height  as  to  give  the 
impression  that  they  must  be  visible  over  large  areas  of 


388    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

the  earth.  Both  continued  all  night  long  and  were  of 
the  same  general  description,  but  the  second  night's  dis- 
play was  emphasised  in  its  main  features  and  elaborated 
in  its  detail,  and  was  the  more  striking  and  notable  and 
worthy  of  description. 

It  began  by  an  exquisite  and  delicate  weaving  of  fine, 
fluorescent  filaments  of  light  in  and  out  among  the  stars, 
until  at  times  a  perfect  network  was  formed,  like  lace 
amidst  diamonds,  first  in  one  quarter  of  the  heavens, 
then  in  another,  then  stretching  and  weaving  its  web 
right  across  the  sky.  The  Yukon  runs  roughly  north 
and  south  in  these  reaches,  and  the  general  trend  of  the 
whole  display  was  parallel  with  the  river's  course.  For 
an  hour  or  more  the  ceaseless  extension  and  looping  of 
these  infinitely  elastic  threads  of  light  went  on,  with  con- 
stant variation  in  their  brilliance  but  no  change  in  their 
form  and  never  an  instant's  cessation  of  motion. 

Then  the  familiar  feature  of  the  draped  aurora  was 
introduced,  always  a  beautiful  sight  to  watch.  Slowly 
and  most  gracefully  issued  out  of  the  north  band  after 
band,  band  after  band  of  pale-green  fire,  each  curling  and 
recurling  on  itself  like  the  ribbon  that  carries  the  motto 
under  a  shield  of  arms,  and  each  continually  fraying  out 
its  lower  edge  into  subdued  rainbow  tints.  Then  these 
bands,  never  for  a  moment  still,  were  gathered  up  together 
to  the  zenith,  till  from  almost  all  round  the  horizon  vi- 
brant meridians  of  light  stretched  up  to  a  crown  of  glory 
almost  but  not  quite  directly  overhead,  so  bright  that  all 
the  waving  bands  that  now  assumed  more  the  appear- 
ance of  its  rays  paled  before  it.     Then  the  crown  began 


SOUND  AND  SMELL  389 

to  revolve,  and  as  It  revolved  with  constantly  increasing 
speed,  it  gathered  all  its  rays  into  one  gigantic  spiral  that 
travelled  as  it  spun  towards  the  east  until  all  form  was 
dissipated  in  a  nebulous  mist  that  withdrew  behind  the 
mountains  and  glowered  there  like  a  dawn  and  left  the 
skies  void  of  all  light  save  the  stars.  It  was  a  fine  in- 
stance of  the  stupendous  sportiveness  of  the  aurora  that 
sometimes  seems  to  have  no  more  law  or  rule  than  the 
gambolling  of  a  kitten,  and  to  build  up  splendid  and  ma- 
jestic effects  merely  to  "whelm  them  all  in  wantonness'* 
a  moment  later.  A  particularly  fine  and  striking  phase 
of  an  aurora  is  very  likely  to  be  followed  by  some  such 
sudden  whimsical  destruction.  It  was  as  though  that 
light  hidden  behind  the  mountains  were  mocking  us. 

Then  from  out  the  north  again  appeared  one  clear 
belt  of  light  that  stretched  rapidly  and  steadily  all  across 
the  heavens  until  it  formed  an  arch  that  stood  there 
stationary.  And  from  that  motionless  arch,  the  only 
motionless  manifestation  that  whole  night,  there  came  a 
gradual  superb  crescendo  of  light  that  lit  the  wide,  white 
river  basin  from  mountain  top  to  mountain  top  and 
threw  the  shadows  of  the  dogs  and  the  sled  sharper  and 
blacker  upon  the  snow, — and  in  the  very  moment  of  its 
climax  was  gone  again  utterly  while  yet  the  exclamations 
of  wonder  were  on  our  lips.  It  was  as  though,  piqued 
at  our  admiration,  the  aurora  had  wiped  itself  out;  and 
often  and  often  there  is  precisely  that  impression  of  wil- 
fulness about  it. 

All  night  long  the  splendour  kept  up,  and  all  night 
long,  as  the  dogs  went  at  a  good  clip  and  one  of  us  rode 


390    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

while  the  other  was  at  the  sled's  handle-bars,  we  gazed 
and  marvelled  at  its  infinite  variety,  at  its  astonishing 
fertility  of  effect,  at  its  whimsical  vagaries,  until  the  true 
dawn  of  Easter  swallowed  up  the  beauty  of  the  night  as 
we  came  in  sight  of  Eagle.  And  we  wondered  with  what 
more  lavish  advertisement  the  dawn  of  the  first  Easter 
was  heralded  into  the  waste  places  of  the  snow. 

There  are  men  in  Alaska,  whose  statements  demand 
every  respect,  who  claim  to  have  heard  frequently  and 
unmistakably  a  swishing  sound  accompanying  the  move- 
ments of  the  aurora,  and  there  are  some  who  claim 
to  have  detected  an  odour  accompanying  it.  Without 
venturing  any  opinion  on  the  subject  in  general,  the 
writer  would  simply  say  that,  though  he  thinks  he  pos- 
sesses as  good  ears  and  as  good  a  nose  as  most  people, 
he  has  never  heard  any  sound  or  smelled  any  odour 
that  he  believed  to  come  from  the  Northern  Lights. 
Indeed,  he  has  often  felt  that  with  all  the  light-producing 
energy  and  with  all  the  rapid  movement  of  the  aurora 
it  was  mysterious  that  there  should  be  absolutely  no 
sound.  The  aurora  often  looks  as  if  it  ought  to  swish,  but 
to  his  ears  it  has  never  done  it;  so  much  phosphorescent 
light  might  naturally  be  accompanied  by  some  chemical 
odour,  but  to  his  nostrils  never  has  been. 

Queer,  uncertain  noises  in  the  silence  of  an  arctic 
night  there  often  are — noises  of  crackling  twigs,  perhaps, 
noises  of  settling  snow,  noises  in  the  ice  itself — but  they 
are  to  be  heard  when  there  is  no  aurora  as  well  as  when 
there  is.  It  is  rare  to  stand  on  the  banks  of  the  Yukon 
on  a  cold  night  and  not  hear  some  faint  crepitating 


SOUND  AND   SMELL  391 

sounds,  sometimes  running  back  and  forth  across  the 
frozen  river,  sometimes  resembUng  the  ring  of  distant 
skates.  Without  offering  any  pronouncement  upon  what 
is  a  very  interesting  question,  it  seems  to  the  writer 
possible  that,  to  an  ear  intently  Hstening,  some  such  noise 
coinciding  with  a  decided  movement  of  a  great  auroral 
streamer  might  seem  to  be  caused  by  the  movement  it 
happened  to  accompany. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  ALASKAN   DOGS 

There  are  two  breeds  of  native  dogs  in  Alaska,  and  a 
third  that  is  usually  spoken  of  as  such.  The  malamute  is 
the  Esquimau  dog;  and  what  for  want  of  a  better  name 
is  called  the  ''Siwash"  is  the  Indian  dog.  Many  years 
ago  the  Hudson  Bay  voyageurs  bred  some  selected  strains 
of  imported  dog  with  the  Indian  dogs  of  those  parts,  or 
else  did  no  more  than  carefully  select  the  best  individuals 
of  the  native  species  and  bred  from  them  exclusively — 
it  is  variously  stated — and  that  is  the  accepted  origin  of 
the  "husky."  The  malamute  and  the  husky  are  the 
two  chief  sources  of  the  white  man's  dog  teams,  though 
cross-breeding  with  setters  and  pointers,  hounds  of  va- 
rious sorts,  mastiffs.  Saint  Bernards,  and  Newfoundlands 
has  resulted  in  a  general  admixture  of  breeds,  so  that 
the  work  dogs  of  Alaska  are  an  heterogeneous  lot  to-day. 
It  should  also  be  stated  that  the  terms  "malamute"  and 
"husky"  are  very  generally  confused  and  often  used 
interchangeably. 

The  malamute,  the  Alaskan  Esquimau  dog,  is  precisely 

the  same  dog  as  that  found  amongst  the  natives  of  Baffin's 

Bay  and  Greenland.     Knud  Rasmunsen  and  Amundsen 

together  have  established  the  oneness  of  the  Esquimaux 

from   the   east   coast   of  Greenland  all  round  to  Saint 

392 


MALAMUTE,  HUSKY,  AND  SIWASH         393 

Michael;  they  are  one  people,  speaking  virtually  one 
language.  And  the  malamute  dog  is  one  dog.  A  pho- 
tograph that  Admiral  Peary  prints  of  one  of  the  Smith 
Sound  dogs  that  pulled  his  sled  to  the  North  Pole  would 
pass  for  a  photograph  of  one  of  the  present  writer's  team, 
bred  on  the  Koyukuk  River,  the  parents  coming  from 
Kotzebue  Sound. 

There  was  never  animal  better  adapted  to  environ- 
ment than  the  malamute  dog.  His  coat,  while  it  is  not 
fluffy,  nor  the  hair  long,  is  yet  so  dense  and  heavy  that 
it  affords  him  a  perfect  protection  against  the  utmost 
severity  of  cold.  His  feet  are  tough  and  clean,  and  do 
not  readily  accumulate  snow  between  the  toes  and  there- 
fore do  not  easily  get  sore — which  is  the  great  drawback 
of  nearly  all  "outside"  dogs  and  their  mixed  progeny. 
He  is  hardy  and  thrifty  and  does  well  on  less  food  than  the 
mixed  breeds;  and,  despite  Peary  to  the  contrary,  he  will 
eat  anything.  "He  will  not  eat  anything  but  meat,"  says 
Peary;  "I  have  tried  and  I  know."  No  dog  accustomed 
to  a  flesh  diet  willingly  leaves  it  for  other  food;  the  dog 
is  a  carnivorous  animal.  But  hunger  will  whet  his  appe- 
tite for  anything  that  his  bowels  can  digest.  "Muk,"  the 
counterpart  of  Peary's  "King  Malamute,"  has  thriven 
for  years  on  his  daily  ration  of  dried  fish,  tallow,  and 
rice,  and  eats  biscuits  and  doughnuts  whenever  he  can 
get  them.  The  malamute  is  affectionate  and  faithful 
and  likes  to  be  made  a  pet  of,  but  he  is  very  jealous  and 
an  incorrigible  fighter.  He  has  little  of  the  fawning 
submissiveness  of  pet  dogs  "outside,"  but  is  indepen- 
dent and  self-willed  and  apt  to  make  a  troublesome  pet. 


394    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

However,  pets  that  give  little  trouble  seldom  give  much 
pleasure. 

His  comparative  shortness  of  leg  makes  him  somewhat 
better  adapted  to  the  hard,  crusted  snow  of  the  coast  than 
to  the  soft  snow  of  the  interior,  but  he  is  a  ceaseless  and 
tireless  worker  who  loves  to  pull.  His  prick  ears,  always 
erect,  his  bushy,  graceful  tail,  carried  high  unless  it  curl 
upon  the  back  as  is  the  case  with  some,  his  compact  coat 
of  silver-grey,  his  sharp  muzzle  and  black  nose  and  quick 
narrow  eyes  give  him  an  air  of  keenness  and  alertness 
that  marks  him  out  amongst  dogs.  When  he  is  in  good 
condition  and  his  coat  is  taken  care  of  he  is  a  handsome 
fellow,  and  he  will  weigh  from  seventy-five  to  eighty-five 
or  ninety  pounds. 

The  husky  is  a  long,  rangy  dog,  with  more  body  and 
longer  legs  than  the  malamute  and  with  a  shorter  coat. 
The  coat  is  very  thick  and  dense,  however,  and  furnishes 
a  sufficient  protection.  A  good,  spirited  husky  will  carry 
his  tail  erect  like  a  malamute,  but  the  ears  are  not  per- 
manently pricked  up;  they  are  mobile.  He  is,  perhaps, 
the  general  preference  amongst  dog  drivers  in  the  interior, 
but  he  has  not  the  graceful  distinction  of  appearance  of 
the  malamute. 

The  "Siwash"  dog  is  the  common  Indian  dog;  gener- 
ally undersized,  uncared  for,  half  starved  most  of  the 
time,  and  snappish  because  not  handled  save  with  rough- 
ness. In  general  appearance  he  resembles  somewhat  a 
small  malamute,  though,  indeed,  nowadays  so  mixed  have 
breeds  become  that  he  may  be  any  cur  or  mongrel.  He 
is  a  wonderful  little  worker,  and  the  loads  he  will  pull  are 


DOG  BREEDING  395 

astonishing.  Sometimes,  with  it  all,  he  is  an  attractive- 
looking  fellow,  especially  when  there  has  been  a  good 
moose  or  caribou  killing  and  he  has  gorged  upon  the 
refuse  and  put  some  flesh  upon  his  bones.  And  if  one 
will  take  a  little  trouble  to  make  friends  with  him  he  likes 
petting  as  much  as  any  dog.  Most  Indian  dogs  "don't 
sabe  white  man,"  and  will  snap  at  one's  first  advances. 
On  the  whole,  it  is  far  better  to  let  them  alone ;  for,  en- 
couraged at  all,  they  are  terrible  thieves — what  hungry 
creatures  are  not? — and  make  all  sorts  of  trouble  with 
one's  own  team.  The  pure  malamute  and  the  pure  husky 
do  not  bark  at  all,  they  howl;  barking  is  a  sure  sign  of  an 
admixture  of  other  strains. 

Here  it  may  be  worth  while  to  say  a  few  words  about 
the  general  belief  that  dogs  in  Alaska  are  interbred  with 
wolves.  That  the  dog  and  the  wolf  have  a  common 
origin  there  can  be  no  doubt,  and  that  they  will  inter- 
breed is  equally  sure,  but  diligent  inquiry  on  the  part  of 
the  writer  for  a  number  of  years,  throughout  all  interior 
Alaska,  amongst  whites  and  natives,  has  failed  to  educe 
one  authentic  instance  of  intentional  interbreeding,  has 
failed  to  discover  one  man  who  knows  of  his  own  knowl- 
edge that  any  living  dog  is  the  offspring  of  such  union. 

While,  therefore,  it  is  not  here  stated  that  such  cross- 
breeding has  not  taken  place,  or  even  that  it  does  not  take 
place,  yet  the  author  is  satisfied  that  it  is  a  very  rare  thing, 
indeed,  and  that  the  common  stories  of  dogs  that  are 
"half  wolf"  are  fabulous. 

Indeed,  it  seems  a  rare  thing  when  any  sort  of  pains 
is  taken  about  the  breeding  of  dogs.     In  a  country  where 


396    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

dogs  are  so  important,  where  they  are  indispensable  for 
any  sort  of  travel  during  six  or  seven  months  in  the  year 
over  by  far  the  greater  portion  of  it,  one  would  expect 
that  much  attention  would  be  paid  to  dog  breeding;  but 
this  is  not  the  case.  Here  and  there  a  man  who  takes 
pride  in  a  team  will  carefully  mate  the  best  available 
couple  and  carefully  rear  their  ofifspring,  but  for  the  most 
part  breeding  seems  left  to  chance.  A  team  all  of 
malamutes  or  all  of  huskies,  a  matched  team  of  any 
sort,  is  the  exception,  and  excites  interest  and  remark. 

The  market  for  dogs  is  so  uncertain  that  it  is  doubt- 
ful if  there  would  be  any  money  in  scientific  breeding  for 
the  trail.  When  a  stampede  to  new  diggings  takes 
place,  the  price  of  dogs  rises  enormously.  Any  sort  of 
good  dog  on  the  spot  may  be  worth  a  hundred  dollars, 
or  a  hundred  and  fifty,  and  the  man  with  a  kennel 
would  make  a  small  fortune  out  of  hand.  But  at  other 
times  it  is  hard  to  get  twenty-five  dollars  for  the  best 
of  dogs. 

The  cost  of  maintenance  of  a  dog  team  is  considerable. 
When  the  mail-routes  went  all  down  the  Yukon,  and  dogs 
were  used  exclusively,  the  contracting  company  estimated 
that  it  cost  seventy-five  dollars  per  head  per  annum  to 
feed  its  dogs;  while  to  the  traveller  in  remote  regions, 
buying  dog  feed  in  small  parcels  here  and  there,  the  cost 
is  not  less  than  one  hundred  dollars  per  head.  Of  course, 
a  man  engaged  in  dog  raising  would  have  his  own  fish- 
wheel  on  the  Yukon  and  would  catch  almost  all  that  his 
dogs  would  eat.  Fish  is  plentiful  in  Alaska;  it  is  trans- 
portation that  costs.     Dogs  not  working  can  do  very 


THE  DOCKING  OF  TAILS  397 

well  on  straight  dried  fish,  but  for  the  working  dog  this 
ration  is  supplemented  by  rice  and  tallow  or  other  cereal 
and  fat;  not  only  because  the  animal  does  better  on  it, 
but  also  because  straight  dried  fish  is  a  very  bulky  food, 
and  weight  for  weight  goes  not  nearly  so  far.  Cooking 
for  the  dogs  is  troublesome,  but  economical  of  weight 
and  bulk,  and  conserves  the  vigour  of  the  team.  In  the 
summer-time  the  dogs  are  still  an  expense.  They  must 
be  boarded  at  some  fish  camp,  at  a  cost  of  about  five 
dollars  per  head  per  month. 

The  white  man  found  the  dog  team  in  use  amongst 
the  natives  all  over  the  interior,  but  he  taught  the  Indian 
how  to  drive  dogs.  The  natives  had  never  evolved  a 
''leader."  Some  fleet  stripling  always  ran  ahead,  and 
the  dogs  followed.  The  leader,  guided  by  the  voice, 
"geeing'*  and  "hawing,"  stopping  and  advancing  at  the 
word  of  command,  is  a  white  man's  innovation,  though 
now  universally  adopted  by  the  natives.  So  is  the  dog 
collar.  The  "Siwash  harness"  is  simply  a  band  that 
goes  round  the  shoulders  and  over  the  breast.  In  the 
interior  the  universal  "Siwash"  hitch  was  tandem,  and 
is  yet,  but  as  trails  have  widened  and  improved,  more 
and  more  the  tendency  grows  amongst  white  men  to  hitch 
two  abreast;  and  the  most  convenient  rig  is  a  lead  line 
to  which  each  dog  is  attached  independently  by  a  single- 
tree, either  two  abreast,  or,  by  adding  a  further  length 
to  the  lead  line,  one  behind  the  other,  so  that  on  a  narrow 
trail  the  tandem  rig  may  be  quickly  resorted  to. 

One  advantage  of  the  change  from  single  to  double 
rig  is  the  decay  of  the  cruel  custom  of  "bobbing"  the 


398    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

dogs'  tails.  When  dogs  are  hitched  one  close  behind  the 
other  (and  the  closer  the  better  for  pulling)  the  tail  of 
the  dog  in  front  becomes  heavy  with  ice  from  the  con- 
densation of  the  breath  of  the  dog  behind,  until  not  only 
is  he  carrying  weight  but  the  use  of  the  tail  for  warmth 
at  night  is  foregone.  So  it  was  the  universal  practice  to 
cut  tails  short  off.  But  sleeping  out  in  the  open,  as  trav- 
elling dogs  often  must  do,  in  all  sorts  of  weather,  with  the 
thermometer  at  50°  or  60°  below  zero  sometimes,  a  thick, 
bushy  tail  is  a  great  protection  to  a  dog.  With  it  he 
covers  nose  and  feet  and  is  tucked  up  snug  and  warm. 
It  is  the  dog's  natural  protection  for  the  muzzle  and  the 
thinly  haired  extremities.  A  few  years  ago  almost  all 
work  dogs  in  the  interior  were  bobtailed;  now  the  plumes 
wave  over  the  teams  again. 

Five  dogs  are  usually  considered  the  minimum  team, 
and  seven  dogs  make  a  good  team.  A  good,  quick-travel- 
ling load  for  a  dog  team  is  fifty  pounds  to  the  dog,  on 
ordinary  trails.  The  dogs  will  pull  as  much  as  one  hun- 
dred pounds  apiece  or  more,  but  that  becomes  more  like 
freighting  than  travelling.  On  a  good  level  trail  with 
strong  big  dogs,  men  sometimes  haul  two  hundred 
pounds  to  the  dog.  These,  however,  are  "gee-pole  prop- 
ositions," in  the  slang  of  the  trail,  and  the  man  is  doing 
hard  work  with  a  band  around  his  chest  and  the  pole  in 
his  hand.  For  quick  travelling,  fifty  pounds  to  the  dog 
is  enough. 

The  most  useful  "outside"  strains  that  the  white 
man  has  introduced  into  the  dogs  of  the  interior  are  the 
pointer  and  setter  and  collie.     The  bird-dogs  themselves 


'Snowball,"  a  bird  dog. 


'Jimmy." 


DOG  LOYALTY  399 

make  very  fast  teams  and  soon  adapt  themselves  to  the 
cHmate,  but  their  feet  will  not  stand  the  strain.  The 
collie's  intelligence  would  make  him  a  most  admirable 
leader,  did  he  not  have  so  pronouncedly  the  faults  of  his 
good  qualities;  he  wants  to  do  all  the  work;  he  works 
himself  to  death.  It  is  the  leader's  business  to  keep  the 
team  strung  out;  it  is  not  his  business  to  pull  the  load. 
But  the  admixture  of  these  strains  with  the  native  blood 
has  produced  some  very  fine  dogs.  The  Newfoundland 
and  Saint  Bernard  strains  have  been  perhaps  the  least 
successful  admixtures.  They  are  too  heavy  and  cumber- 
some and  always  have  tender  feet;  their  bodies  and  the 
bodies  of  their  mongrel  progeny  are  too  heavy  for  their 
feet. 

The  last  statement,  with  regard  to  Newfoundland  and 
Saint  Bernard  dogs,  has  an  interesting  exception.  There 
is  a  dog,  not  uncommon  in  Alaska,  that  by  a  curious  in- 
version of  phrase  is  known  as  the  "one-man-dog."  What 
is  meant  is  the  "one-dog-man  dog,"  the  dog  that  belongs 
to  the  man  that  uses  only  one  dog.  Many  and  many  a 
prospector  pulls  his  whole  winter  grub-stake  a  hundred 
miles  or  more  into  the  hills  with  the  aid  of  one  dog.  His 
progress  is  slow,  in  bad  places  or  on  up  grades  he  must 
relay,  and  all  the  time  he  is  doing  more  work  than  the 
dog  is,  but  he  manages  to  get  his  stuff  to  his  cabin  or  his 
camp  with  no  other  aid  than  one  dog  can  give.  It  is  usu- 
ally a  large  heavy  dog — speed  never  being  asked  of  him, 
nor  steady  continuous  winter  work — often  of  one  of  the 
breeds  mentioned,  or  of  its  predominant  strain.  The 
companionship  between  such  a  man  and  such  a  dog  is 


400    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

very  close,  and  the  understanding  complete.  Sometimes 
the  dog  will  be  his  master's  sole  society  for  the  whole 
winter. 

Indeed,  any  man  of  feeling  who  spends  the  winters 
with  a  dog  team  must  grow  to  a  deep  sympathy  with  the 
animals,  and  to  a  keen,  sometimes  almost  a  poignant, 
sense  of  what  he  owes  to  them.  There  is  a  mystery  about 
domestic  animals  of  whatever  kind.  It  is  a  mystery  that 
man  should  be  able  to  impose  his  will  upon  them,  change 
their  habits  and  characters,  constrain  them  to  his  tasks, 
take  up  all  their  lives  with  unnatural  toil.  And  that  he 
should  get  affection  and  devotion  in  return  makes  the 
mystery  yet  more  mysterious. 

The  dog  gets  his  food — often  of  poor  quality  and 
scant  quantity — and  that  is  all  he  gets.  Yet  the  life  of  a 
work  dog  that  has  a  kind  and  considerate  master  is  not 
an  unhappy  one.  The  dog  is  as  full  of  the  canine  joy  of 
life  as  though  he  had  never  worn  a  collar,  and  not  only 
sports  and  gambols  when  free,  but  really  seems  to  like  his 
work  and  do  it  gladly.  He  will  chafe  at  inaction;  he  will 
come  eagerly  to  the  harness  in  the  morning;  often  will 
come  before  he  is  called  and  ask  to  be  harnessed;  and  if 
for  any  reason — lameness  or  galled  neck  or  sore  feet — a 
dog  is  cut  out  of  the  team  temporarily,  to  run  loose,  he 
will  try  at  every  chance  to  get  back  into  his  place  and 
will  often  attack  the  dog  that  seems  to  him  to  be  occu- 
pying it ;  while  a  dog  left  behind  will  howl  most  piteously 
and  make  desperate  efforts  to  break  his  chain  and  rejoin 
his  companions  and  his  labour.  And  the  wonderful  and 
pitiful  thing  about  it  is  that  no  sort  of  severity  or  brutality 


REINDEER  401 

on  his  master's  part  will  destroy  that  zealous  allegiance. 
The  dog  in  Alaska  is  absolutely  dependent  upon  man  for 
subsistence,  and  he  seems  to  realise  it. 

There  is  a  great  deal  of  cruelty  and  brutality  amongst 
dog  drivers  in  Alaska.  At  times,  it  is  true,  most  dogs 
need  some  punishment.  Dogs  differ  as  much  as  men 
do,  and  some  are  lazy  and  some  are  self-willed.  The  best 
of  them  will  develop  bad  trail  habits  if  they  are  allowed 
to — habits  which  will  prove  hard  to  break  by  and  by  and 
be  a  continual  source  of  delay  and  annoyance  until 
broken.  But  a  very  slight  punishment,  judicially  admin- 
istered at  the  moment,  will  usually  suffice  just  as  well  as 
a  severe  one,  and  the  main  source  of  brutality  in  the  pun- 
ishment of  dogs  is  sheer  bad  temper  on  the  part  of  the 
driver,  and  has  for  its  only  possible  end,  not  the  correc- 
tion of  the  animal's  fault  but  the  satisfaction  of  its  owner's 
rage.  To  see  some  hulking,  passionate  brute  lashing  a 
poor  little  dog  with  a  chain,  or  beating  him  with  a  club ; 
to  see  dogs  overworked  to  utter  exhaustion  and  their 
lagging  steps  still  hastened  by  a  rain  of  blows,  these  are 
the  sickening  sights  of  the  trail — and  they  are  not  un- 
common. The  language  of  most  dog  drivers  to  their 
dogs  consists  of  a  mixture  of  cursing  and  ribaldry, 
excused  by  the  statement  that  only  by  the  use  of  such 
speech  may  dogs  be  driven  at  all.  But  there  is  little 
point  in  the  excuse;  such  speech  is,  to  an  extent  not  far 
from  universal,  the  speech  of  the  country.  Swedes  who 
have  little  and  Indians  who  have  none  other  English  will 
yet  be  volubly  profane  and  obscene;  in  the  latter  case 
often  with  complete  ignorance  of  the  meaning  of  the 


402    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

terms.  Yet  it  must  be  recorded  not  ungratefully  by  the 
impartial  observer  that  the  rare  presence  of  a  decent 
woman  or  a  clergyman  will  almost  always  put  a  check 
upon  blackguardly  speech,  even  that  of  a  dog  driver; 
women  and  clergymen  being  supposed  the  only  two 
classes  who  could  have  any  possible  objection  to  foul- 
ness of  mouth.  To  refer  continually  to  the  excrements  of 
the  body,  to  sexual  commerce,  natural  and  unnatural, 
all  in  the  grossest  terms,  and  to  mix  these  matters  in- 
timately with  the  sacred  names,  is  "manly"  speech 
amongst  a  large  part  of  the  population  of  Alaska. 

It  has  been  claimed  with  justice  that  the  introduction 
of  the  reindeer  into  Alaska  has  been  highly  successful;  yet 
there  is  much  misconception  amongst  people  "outside"  as 
to  the  nature  of  that  success.  Stimulated  by  the  example 
of  the  United  States  Government,  and  urged  thereto 
by  Doctor  Wilfred  Grenfell  and  others,  the  Canadian 
Government  is  now  introducing  reindeer  into  Labrador; 
and  the  distinguished  missionary  physician,  whose  recent 
decoration  gives  lustre  to  the  royal  bestower  as  well  as  to 
the  recipient,  has  publicly  announced  his  hope  that  these 
domesticated  herbivora  will  "eliminate  that  scourge  of 
the  country,  the  husky  dog."  To  announce  such  a  hope, 
based  upon  any  results  in  Alaska,  is  to  announce  mis- 
conception of  the  nature  of  the  success  which  has  at- 
tended Doctor  Sheldon  Jackson's  "reindeer  experiment." 
There  is  not  a  dog  the  less  in  Alaska  because  of  the  rein- 
deer, nor  ever  will  be;  in  so  far  as  similarity  of  conditions 
warrant  us  in  expecting  similar  results,  it  is  safe  to  predict 


REINDEER  AS   DRAUGHT  ANIMALS         403 

that  the  reindeer  will  never  "eliminate  the  husky  dog'* 
in  Labrador. 

But  before  discussing  the  success  of  the  reindeer  ex- 
periment and  its  lack  of  any  bearing  upon  the  number  or 
the  usefulness  of  the  dog,  the  writer  would  pause  to  take 
strong  exception  to  the  description  of  the  husky  dog  as 
the  "scourge"  of  Labrador,  and  would  insist  that  any  such 
wholesome  condemnation  is  a  boomerang  that  returns 
upon  the  head  of  the  Labradorian  who  uses  it.  For,  as 
the  dog  is  one  of  the  most  adaptable  of  all  domestic  ani- 
mals, and  is,  to  an  amazing  extent,  what  his  master  makes 
him,  to  bring  a  railing  accusation  against  the  whole  race 
of  dogs  is  in  reality  to  accuse  those  who  breed  and  rear 
them. 

Why  should  the  dog  have  richly  earned  the  gratitude 
and  affection  of  all  the  world  except  Labrador?  Why 
should  he  be  called  the  "Friend  of  Man"  ever3rwhere 
except  amongst  these  particular  people  .f*  Far  to  the 
north  of  them  the  Esquimaux  prize  and  cherish  their 
dogs.  Throughout  the  whole  wide  region  to  the  west 
and  northwest  of  them  the  dog  is  man's  indispensable 
ally  and  faithful  servant.  The  same  husky  dog  has 
made  good  his  claim  upon  man  in  Alaska.  It  is  he  and 
his  brother,  the  malamute,  that  have  opened  up  Alaska 
so  far  as  it  has  been  opened;  without  whom  to-day  the  de- 
velopment of  the  country  would  suddenly  cease.  And  to 
the  question  that  is  often  asked  "outside,"  as  to  whether 
the  Alaskan  dog  is  not  a  savage  beast,  it  is  justly  replied: 
"Not  unless  he  happens  to  belong  to  a  savage  beast."  Is 
it  really  otherwise  anywhere?     Instead  of  the  reindeer 


404    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

eliminating  the  dog,  there  is  far  greater  HkeUhood  of  the 
dog  ehminating  the  reindeer;  and  the  professed  dog  lover, 
indignant  at  the  opprobrious  term  applied  to  a  whole 
race  of  dogs,  may  be  disposed  to  echo  Lady  Macbeth's 
wish:  "May  good  digestion  wait  on  appetite." 

So  far  as  substituting  another  draught  animal  for  the 
dog  is  concerned,  if  the  whole  equine  tribe,  even  down  to 
Manchurian  ponies  should  for  some  strange  reason  be  out 
of  the  question,  the  Canadian  Government  had  better  im- 
port the  polar  ox  or  the  yak.  It  is  only  amongst  a  no- 
madic people,  whose  main  quest  is  pasturage,  that  the 
reindeer  is  a  satisfactory  draught  animal.  When  intro- 
duced into  Alaska  there  was  doubtless  expectation  that 
he  would  be  generally  useful  in  this  capacity.  For  a  while 
certain  mail-routes  on  the  Seward  Peninsula  were  served 
by  him,  and  here  and  there  a  deluded  prospector  put  his 
grub-stake  on  a  reindeer  sled.  It  is  safe  to  say  that  no 
reindeer  are  so  employed  to-day.  They  were  soon  aban- 
doned on  the  mail  trails,  and  the  prospector,  after  one 
season's  experience,  slaughtered  his  reindeer  and  traded 
its  meat  and  hide  for  a  couple  of  dogs. 

Consider  that  the  reindeer  feeds  upon  one  thing  alone, 
the  moss  that  is  named  after  him,  and  that  while  this 
moss  is  very  widely  distributed  indeed,  throughout 
Alaska,  it  is  not  found  at  all  in  the  river  valleys  or  the 
forests,  but  only  upon  the  treeless  hills  at  considerable 
elevation.  Now  the  rivers  are  the  highways.  It  is  on 
their  frozen  surface,  or  on  "portage"  trails  through  the 
woods,  that  the  greater  part  of  all  travelling  is  done  and, 
in   particular,  that   established   routes   of  regular  com- 


DOG   FOOD  405 

munication  are  maintained.  To  leave  the  trail  after  a 
day's  journey,  to  wander  miles  into  the  hills,  to  herd  the 
deer  while  they  browse  from  slope  to  slope,  digging  the 
snow  away  in  search  of  their  provender,  is  wholly  incom- 
patible with  any  sustained  or  regular  travel.  The  rein- 
deer is  a  timid  and  almost  defenceless  creature.  Wolves 
and  lynxes  prey  upon  him.  One  lynx  is  thought  to  have 
killed  upward  of  twenty  head  in  one  season  out  of  the 
herd  that  was  stationed  at  Tanana,  leaping  upon  the 
backs  of  the  creatures,  cutting  their  throats,  sucking  their 
blood,  and  riding  them  until  they  dropped  and  died.  A 
few  dogs  will  soon  work  havoc  in  a  herd.  So  the  rein- 
deer must  be  constantly  protected  and  at  the  same  time 
must  have  range  over  a  considerable  scope  of  country. 
The  care  of  reindeer  is  a  business  in  itself,  not  a  mere 
detail  of  the  business  of  transportation  or  travel. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  dog's  ration  for  many  days  is 
carried  on  the  sled  he  hauls.  There  is  a  definite  limit  to 
it,  of  course,  and  knowledge  of  this  limit  made  every 
experienced  dog  driver  incredulous,  from  the  first,  of 
Doctor  Cook's  claim  to  have  travelled  some  eleven  hun- 
dred miles,  from  Etah  to  the  North  Pole  and  back,  with  a 
team  of  dogs  hauling  their  own  food.  It  is  possible,  how- 
ever, on  fair  trails,  with  rigid  economy,  to  travel  five 
hundred  miles  and  haul  dog  food  and  man  food  and  the 
other  indispensables  of  a  long  journey;  and  that  is  twice 
as  far  as  it  is  ever  necessary  to  travel  in  the  interior  of 
Alaska  without  reaching  a  supply  point,  the  northern 
slope  to  the  Arctic  Ocean  excepted. 

Perhaps  it  would  be  putting  it  better  to  say  that  a 


4o6    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

team  of  seven  dogs  can  haul  their  own  and  their  driver's 
food  and  the  camp  equipment,  all,  of  course,  carefully 
reduced  to  a  minimum,  for  a  month.  Dog  food  of  one 
sort  or  another  can  be  bought  at  any  place  where  anything 
whatever  is  sold.  Almost  any  Indian  village  will  furnish 
dried  fish,  and  it  is  often  possible,  with  no  other  weapon 
than  a  .22  rifle,  to  feed  dogs  largely  on  the  country  through 
which  they  pass.  The  writer's  team  has  had  many  a 
meal  of  ptarmigan,  rabbits,  quail,  and  spruce  hen,  while 
to  enumerate  other  articles,  on  which  at  times  and  in 
stress  for  proper  food,  his  dogs  have  sustained  life  and 
strength  for  travel,  would  be  to  enumerate  all  the  com- 
mon human  comestibles.  Aside  from  the  usual  ration  of 
fish,  tallow,  and  rice  boiled  together,  corn-meal,  beans, 
flour,  oatmeal,  sago  (though  that  is  poor  stuff),  tapioca, 
canned  meats  of  all  kinds,  canned  salmon,  even  canned 
kippered  herring  from  Scotland,  seal  oil,  seal  and  whale 
flesh,  ham  and  bacon,  horse  flesh,  moose  and  caribou  and 
mountain-sheep  flesh,  canned  "Boston  brown  bread," 
canned  butter,  canned  milk,  dried  apples,  sugar,  cheese, 
crackers  of  all  kinds,  and  a  score  of  other  matters  have  at 
times  entered  into  their  food.  Dogs  have  been  "tided 
over"  tight  places  for  days  and  days  on  horse  oats  boiled 
with  tallow  candles,  working  the  while.  Anything  that 
a  man  can  eat,  and  much  that  even  a  starving  man  would 
scarcely  eat,  will  make  food  for  dogs.  At  the  last  and 
worst,  dog  can  be  fed  to  dog  and  even  to  man.  When 
a  dog  team  reaches  a  mining  camp  where  supplies  of  all 
sorts  are  scarce — and  that  is  not  an  uncommon  experi- 
ence— it  is  sometimes  an  exceedingly  expensive  matter 


THE  REINDEER'S  USEFULNESS  407 

to  feed  it;  but  something  can  always  be  found  that  will 
serve  to  keep  it  going  until  the  return  to  a  better-stocked 
region.  In  the  winter  of  1910-11,  when  there  was  such 
scarcity  in  the  Iditerod,  it  cost  the  writer  thirty-nine  dol- 
lars and  fifty  cents  to  feed  seven  dogs  for  a  week,  and  he 
has  more  than  once  been  at  almost  a  similar  charge  in 
the  Koyukuk.  But  in  all  his  travels  he  has  never  yet 
been  unable  to  procure  some  sort  of  food  for  his  dogs.  At 
times  they  have  been  fed  for  days  on  rabbits  straight ;  at 
times  on  ptarmigan  straight. 

Speaking  broadly,  the  reindeer  is  a  stupid,  unwieldy, 
and  intractable  brute,  not  comparing  for  a  moment  with 
the  dog  in  intelligence  or  adaptability.  The  common 
notion  that  his  name  is  derived  from  the  use  of  reins  in 
driving  him,  thus  putting  him  in  the  class  with  the  horse, 
is  a  mistake;  the  word  comes  from  a  Norse  root  which 
refers  to  his  moss-browsing  habit.  The  "rein"  with 
which  he  is  driven  is  a  rope  tied  around  one  of  his  horns. 
He  has  no  cognisance  of  "gee"  and  "haw,"  nor  of  any 
other  vocal  direction,  but  must  be  yanked  hither  and 
thither  with  the  rope  by  main  force;  while  to  stop  him 
in  his  mad  career,  once  he  is  started,  it  is  often  necessary 
to  throw  him  with  the  rope.  In  Lapland  there  are  doubt- 
less individual  deer  better  trained;  the  Lap  herders  tell 
of  them  with  pride;  but  in  the  main  this  is  a  just  de- 
scription of  reindeer  handling.  All  the  chief  herders  in 
Alaska  are  Laps,  brought  over  for  their  knowledge  of  the 
animals,  and  the  writer  has  repeatedly  ridden  behind 
some  of  their  best  deer. 

Wherein,  then,  lies  the  success  of  the  reindeer  experi- 


4o8    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

ment  in  Alaska?  Chiefly  in  the  provision  of  a  regular 
meat  supply  by  which  the  natives  and  whites  in  the  vi- 
cinity of  a  herd  are  relieved  from  the  precariousness  of  the 
chase  or  the  rapacity  of  the  cold-storage  butcher  com- 
pany. The  Esquimau,  having  served  his  allotted  ap- 
prenticeship of  five  years  and  entered  upon  possession  of 
a  herd,  can  at  any  time  kill  and  dress  a  "kid  of  the  flock" 
for  his  family  or  for  the  market.  The  price  of  butcher's 
meat  has  been  kept  down  all  over  the  Seward  Peninsula 
by  the  competition  of  the  numerous  reindeer  herds,  to 
the  comfort  of  the  population  and  the  exasperation  of  the 
butcher  company,  and  many  an  Esquimau  has  become 
passably  rich.  The  skin  of  the  animal  also  furnishes  a 
warm  and  much-needed  material  for  clothing  and  finds  a 
ready  sale  at  a  good  price. 

This  success  is,  however,  confined  so  far  to  the  coast. 
The  herds  have  not  thriven  in  the  interior  and  have  now 
all  been  withdrawn  to  the  coast.  Beasts  of  prey  killed 
them;  a  hoof  disease  destroyed  many;  others  are  supposed 
to  have  died  from  eating  some  poisonous  fungus.  In  five 
or  six  years  the  herd  at  Tanana  had  not  increased  at 
all,  but  rather  diminished,  and  the  same  is  true  of  the 
other  herds  on  the  Yukon.  The  Indian,  moreover,  does 
not  take  to  herding  as  the  Esquimau  does,  and  can  hardly 
be  induced  to  the  segregation  of  himself  and  his  family 
from  his  tribe  which  reindeer  herding  involves.  The 
*' apprentices"  on  the  Yukon  were  nearly  all  of  them  Es- 
quimaux from  the  coast. 

It  may  be  that  the  salt  of  the  coast  region  is  essential 
to  the  well-being  of  the  reindeer;  it  is  not  so  with  the 


THE   REINDEER'S  USEFULNESS  409 

caribou — and  the  reindeer  is  nothing  but  a  domesticated 
caribou — many  herds  of  which,  in  the  interior  of  Alaska, 
never  visit  the  coast  at  all;  but  all  caribou  herds  have  their 
salt-licks,  and  one  wishes  that  the  oft-recommended  plan 
of  furnishing  salt  for  the  herds  in  the  interior  had  been 
adopted  by  the  government  for  a  season  before  their 
removal  was  determined  upon. 

Like  most  other  "resources"  of  Alaska,  the  imported 
reindeer,  at  first  decried  and  ridiculed,  has  now  become 
the  slender  foundation  for  extravagant  speculations  of 
prosperity.  The  "millions  of  acres  waiting  for  the 
plough"  in  the  interior  have  lately  been  supplemented  in 
this  visionary  treasury  by  the  capitalisation  of  the  vast 
tundras  of  the  coast,  the  golden  wheat-fields  of  the  one 
finding  counterpart  in  the  multitudinous  herds  of  the 
other.  The  growing  dearth  of  cattle-range  in  the  United 
States  offers,  it  seems,  to  Alaska  the  opportunity  of  sup- 
plying the  American  market  with  meat,  and  the  kindling 
fancy  of  the  enthusiastic  "booster"  sees  trains  loaded 
with  frozen  reindeer  meat  rolling  into  Chicago. 

While  the  reindeer  will  never  supersede  the  dog  as  a 
draught  animal  anjrwhere,  the  horse  is  rapidly  super- 
seding him  on  good  trails  in  the  more  settled  and  peopled 
regions.  In  the  Fairbanks  and  Nome  districts,  in  the 
Circle  and  Koyukuk  districts,  in  the  Fortymile  and  in 
the  Iditerod — in  all  districts  where  any  extensive  mining 
is  carried  on — heavy  freights  are  moved  by  horses,  and  this 
tendency  will  doubtless  increase  rather  than  diminish. 
The  dog  team  cannot  compete  with  the  horse  team  when 
it  comes  to  moving  heavy  loads  over  good  trails.     The 


4IO    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

grain  that  the  horse  eats  is  imported,  and  in  the  main  will 
probably  always  be  imported,  but  oats  cut  green  and 
properly  cared  for  make  excellent  fodder,  and  the  native 
hay,  while  not  nearly  as  nutritious  as  the  imported  tim- 
othy, will  sufficiently  supplement  grain. 

We  hear  a  great  deal  nowadays  of  the  benefits  which 
are  to  come  to  Alaska  from  the  railroad  which  the  United 
States  is  expected  to  build  from  tide-water  to  the  Yukon, 
and  the  clamorous  voices  of  the  journalist  and  the  pro- 
fessional promoter  and  politician,  which  seem  the  only 
voices  which  ever  reach  the  ear  of  government,  are  in- 
sistent that  this  is  the  one  great  thing  that  will  bring 
prosperity  to  the  country.  Yet  the  writer  is  confident 
that  he  expresses  almost  the  unanimous  opinion  of  those 
who  live  in  the  country,  outside  of  the  classes  mentioned, 
when  he  says  that  if  the  amount  of  money  which  this 
railroad  will  cost  were  expended  upon  good  highways 
and  trails  the  benefit  would  be  much  greater.  It  is 
means  of  intercommunication  between  the  various  parts 
of  the  country  that  is  the  great  need  of  Alaska;  some  of 
its  most  promising  sections  are  almost  inaccessible  now  or 
accessible  only  at  great  trouble  and  expense.  Access  to 
the  country  itself,  for  the  introduction  of  merchandise, 
is  furnished  easily  enough  during  three  or  four  months 
of  the  year  by  its  incomparable  system  of  waterways. 
Good  highways,  well  engineered  and  well  maintained, 
over  which  horse  teams  could  be  used  summer  and  winter, 
would  remove  much  of  what  at  present  is  the  almost 
prohibitive  cost  of  distributing  that  merchandise  from 
river  points.     Such  roads  would  give  an  enormous  stimu- 


THE   REINDEER'S   USEFULNESS  411 

lus  to  prospecting,  and  would  render  it  possible  to  work 
gold  placers  all  over  the  country  that  are  of  too  low  grade 
to  be  worked  at  the  present  rates  of  transportation.  A 
really  good  highway  from  Valdez  to  Fairbanks  and  the 
making  of  the  long-ago  begun  Valdez-Eagle  road ;  a  good 
highway  from  Fairbanks  to  the  upper  Tanana  as  far  as 
the  Nabesna,  connecting  with  the  one  from  the  Copper 
River  country  and  the  coast;  another  from  the  Yukon 
into  the  Koyukuk  and  the  Chandalar;  another  from  Fair- 
banks into  the  Kantishna,  connecting  with  one  from  the 
lower  Kuskokwim  and  one  from  the  Iditerod;  a  road  from 
Eagle  across  the  almost  unknown  region  (save  for  the  line 
of  the  141st  meridian)  between  the  Yukon  and  the  Por- 
cupine Rivers ;  two  or  three  roads  between  the  Yukon  and 
the  Tanana;  a  road  from  the  Koyukuk  to  Kotzebue 
Sound — these  would  constitute  main  arteries  of  travel 
and  would  open  up  the  country  as  no  trunk  railroad  will 
ever  do.  The  expense  would  be  great,  both  of  construc- 
tion and  maintenance,  but  it  would  probably  not  be 
greater  than  the  cost  of  constructing  and  maintaining 
the  proposed  railroad.  Twenty  or  thirty  ordinary  freight 
trains  a  year  would  bring  in  all  the  goods  that  Alaska 
consumes.  Before  that  amount  can  be  very  greatly 
increased  there  must  be  a  large  development  of  the 
means  by  which  it  is  to  be  distributed  throughout  the 
country. 

Some  day,  perhaps,  these  roads  will  be  made,  and  the 
horse,  not  the  dog,  will  be  the  draught  animal  upon 
them.  Yet  it  would  be  a  rash  conclusion  that  even  then 
the  time  will  be  at  hand  when  there  will  be  no  longer  use 


412    TEN  THOUSAND  MILES  WITH  A  DOG  SLED 

for  the  work  dog  in  Alaska.  Away  from  these  main  ar- 
teries of  travel  he  will  still  be  employed.  So  long  as  great 
part  of  the  land  remains  a  noble  arctic  wilderness;  so  long 
as  the  prospector  strikes  farther  and  farther  into  the 
rugged  mountains;  so  long  as  quick  travel  over  great 
stretches  of  country  is  necessary  or  desirable;  so  long  as 
the  salmon  swarm  up  the  rivers  to  furnish  food  for  the 
catching;  so  long  as  the  Indian  moves  from  fishing  camp 
to  village  and  from  village  to  hunting  camp — so  long  will 
the  dog  be  hitched  to  the  sled  in  Alaska;  so  long  will  his 
joyful  yelp  and  his  plaintive  whine  be  heard  in  the  land; 
so  long  will  his  warm  tongue  seek  his  master's  hand,  even 
the  hand  that  strikes  him,  and  his  eloquent  eyes  speak 
his  utter  allegiance. 


INDEX 


INDEX 


Agriculture,  228,  229,  230,  231,  367 

Alarm-clocks,  304 

Alatna  River,  70 

Albert  the  pilot,  60 

Allakaket,  190-195 

Alphabet,  69 

Amundsen,  292,  392 

Animals,    wild,    257,  276,    277,   298, 

405 
Anthropologists,  270 
Arctic  Ocean,  97,  98 
Army  posts:   economic  value,  151 

discipline  and  life,  217 

frequent  changes,  217 

surgeons,  218 
Arthur,  158,  163 
Athabascan  language,  349 
Atler,  170,  171 
Auroras,  46,  380-391 

Baker  Creek  Springs,  155 

Bathing,  85 

Beaver  City,  345 

Bering  Sea,  129 

Betticher,  C.  E.,  254 

Bettles,  54,  56,  63 

Black  fox,  258,  362 

Blizzard,  40 

Blossom  Cape,  103,  106 

Blow-holes,  13 

BlufF,  126 

Bompas,  Bishop,  283 

Brook,  Alfred,  309 

Burke,  Dr.,  158,  167,  169,  187 

Caching,  17,  20,  70,  335 

Camp:   making  details,  41,  42,  43 

night  made,  91 

devices,  243 

in  wet  snow,  302 
Camp-Robbers,  335,  299,  300 


Candle,  102 
Candles,  108,  109 
Caribou,  107,  409 
Carter,  Miss,  184 
Chandalar:  River,  26,  27,  35 

village,  27,  28,  29,  34 

Gap,  36,  37 
Chatanika  River,  4,  6,  8 
Chena,  156,  249,  250 
Chief  Isaac,  263 
Chinnik,  127 
Choris  Peninsula,  106 
Circle  City,  11,  20,  290 
Clearwater  Creek,  256 
Clothes:   drying,  42,  53 

moose  hide,  202,  203 

tuberculosis,  306,  362 

missions,  363 
Coal,  92,  93 
Coldfoot,  47,  48,  49 
Cook,  Dr.,  405 
Cooking:  camp  dishes,  43 

cleanliness,  85 

bear  meat,  168 

by  relays,  209 

for  dog,  397 
Council,  116 
Creepers,  iii 
Cribbage,  124 

Death  Valley,  112,  113 
Denali  (Mt.  McKinley),  225,  305 
Deputy  marshals,  365 
Development  schemes,  410,  411 
Diphtheria,  28,  29,  32,  287,  313 
Disease:  epidemic,  6;  cf.  diphtheria, 

measles,  tuberculosis 
Dishkaket,  332 
Disinfectants,  32 
Dogs:   price  of,  4 
frozen  toes,  8 


415 


4i6 


INDEX 


sled,  20,  25,  45 

beds,  42 

food,  44,  407 

harness,  45 

tails,  45 

fight,  93 

digging  up  snow,  no 

helpless  on  smooth  ice,  113 

conscience,  115 

on  fish  food,  115 

with  reindeer,  119,  120 

refuse  to  lead,  125 

preference  for  land  trails,  129 

intelligence,  139,  156;   cf.  Nanook 

strength,  174 

dislike  wet  feet,  178 

cost  of  boarding,  181 

in  trail  making,  200 

in  soft  weather,  213 

suffering  on  steep  trails,  214 

companionship,  223 

moccasin  leggings,  224 

houses,  232,  237 

play,  234 

intelligence,  234,  237 

sleeping,  235 

thieving,  236 

partners  of  man,  238 

working  life,  239 

frozen  foot,  253 

with  no  coat,  275 

and  Indians,  291 

howling,  303,  304 

stray,  320,  321 

general  characteristics,  392-402 

cost  of  maintenance,  396 

ill  used  by  whites,  397 

Eagle,  285 

Eagle  Summit,  10,  11 

Education:  spread  of  English,  23,  24 

phonograph,  52 

scientific,  58 

novel  methods,  80 

ignorance  of  native  language,  81 

artificial  methods,  131 

mission,  132,  355 
Egbert  Fort,  286 


Endicott  Mountains,  62 
Esquimaux:  sense  of  humour,  51,  87 

isolated,  62 

huts,  70 

as  hunters,  75 

prayers,  82 

music,  82 

morality,  83 

industry,  86 

Sabbatarianism,  88 

sense  of  distance,  91 

fish  eating,  92 

gut  windows,  94 

devoutness,  95 

sleeping  customs,  95 

undemonstrativeness,  95 

igloos,  96 

non-alcoholic,  99 

tobacco,  99 

hospitality,  106 

carving,  124 

singing,  130 

attitude  of  white  men  toward,  134 

snow  goggles,  146 

kindly  manners,  182 

antipathy  to  Indians,  185,  265 

superstitions,  191,  269 

Fairbanks,  156,  249,  250,  251,  252, 

253.  382 
Farthing,  Miss,  244,  246,  247,  248 
Fish  Creek,  297 
Forts:   Alaskan,  342 
Fortymilers,  280 
Fortymile  River,  281,  282 

Gambling,  279 

Game,  257,  277,  325,  368,  369,  406 

Gold  train,  5 

Greek  Church,  310,  322 

Grenfell,  Dr.,  402 

Grimm,  Charles,  56 

Half-breeds,  315,  316,  318,  319 
Hamlin,  Fort,  342 
Hammond  River,  47 
Hans,  102,  103,  105 
Hip-ring,  226 


INDEX 


417 


Hobo,  the  frozen,  134,  135 
Hogatzitna,  76 
Horses,  409,  410,  411 
Hospitality,  cf.  Esquimaux  and  Indi- 
ans, 49 
Hot  Springs,  227,  228 
Hotham  Inlet,  96 
Hudson  Bay  Company,  21,  22 
Husky,  392 

Ice:  glare,  9 

rubber,  9,  179,  180 

blow-holes,  13 

bluffs,  79 

mining,  126,  160,  161 

jam,  167 

breaking,  170 

way  to  determine  holding  capacity, 
179 
Iditerod  City,  294,  295,  327 
Igloo,  96,  106 
Indians:   civilized,  24 

uncivilized,  25 

religion,  30 

language,  141 

trade  with,  152,  153 

diminishing,  153,  154 

disease,  154 

relations  with  whites,  173 

dancing  and  sports,  189 

preparation  for  death,  190 

effect  of  civilization,  192,  193 

lack  of  initiative,  197 

demoralization,  216,  278,  279 

birth-rate  and  death-rate,  217,  218 

best  education  for,  245 

women  teachers,  246,  247 

kindliness,  254 

traders,  258 

hospitality,  261,  303 

missions,  263,  279 

not  savages,  264 

fear  of  Esquimaux,  265 

peaceable,  266 

not  idolaters,  267 

Christianity,  268,  270 

moral  character,  285 

pauperization,  288,  289 


cruelty  to  dogs,  291 
effect  of  reproof,  292 
self-government,  293 
whites,  293 

epidemics,  308,  312,  313 
at  mercy  of  traders,  311 
half-breed,  315 
and  whites,  317,  318 
meat  carriers,  332 
carving,  334 

general  discussion  of,  348-370 
and  photographs,  378 
Interpreters,  154,  155,  186 

Jackson,  Dr.  S.,  402 
Jade  Mountains,  89 
Jette,  Fr.,  140,  141 
John  River,  62 
Journalism,  250 

Kikitaruk,  98,  102 

Knapp,  100 

Kobuk:  River,  63,  76 

Mountains,  74 

missionary,  80 

town,  182 
Kobuks,  51 
Kotzebue,  106,  107 

Sound,  63,  97,  102 
Koyukuk:  River,  39,  40,  48,  52,  65, 

384 

Cafion,  52 

deserted  towns,  65 

Indians,  158,  142 

mission,  183 
Krusenstern,  97 
Kuskokwim  River,  322,  323 

Lamps,  34 

Langdon,  Captain,  288 

Launch,  motor,   158,   159,  160,  161, 

163 
Lewis  Cut-Off,  333 
Lingo,  51,  IIS,  239 
London,  Jack,  265 
Long  Beach,  84,  88 
Lookout  Mountain,  61 
Loomis,  Dr.,  296 


4i8 


INDEX 


Lower  ramparts,  2ig 
Lunar:  phenomena,  i8,  157 

eclipse,  78 
Lynx,  405 

MacDonald,  Archdeacon,  22,  23,  30, 

Magistrates,  364 
Mail  carrying,  215,  331 
Malamute,  392 
Mal-de-raquet,  201 
Mansfield  Lake,  271 
Matches,  243 
Measles,  312 

Medicine  men,  246,  247,  267,  268 
Melozitna,  209 
Menthol  balm,  201 
Meteorological:  phenomena,  heat  ra- 
diation, 55 

rain,  rare  in  winter,  134 

local  weather  changes,  144 

variable  climate  in  Alaska,  188 

cause   of  fluctuating   temperature 
readings,  195,  196 
Minchumina,  307,  308 

Lake,  303 
Mining:   towns  and  camps,  5,  6,  11, 
12,  47,  48,  65,  251,  252 

town  morality,  83,  84,  328,  354 

luxurious  life,  108,  122 

fires,  116,  330 

on  beach,  123 

in  ice,  126 

decayed,  221,  222,  223,  284 

primitive  methods,  281,  282 

claims,  295 

flimsy  buildings,  328 

morals,  329 

services  in,  330 

missionaries,  331 

agriculture,  366 
Mirage,  90 
Mission  stations:   schools,  355,  358 

clothing,  363,  369 

isolated,  369 
Missionary:  nurse,  33 

methods,    69,    81,    84,    194,    195, 
307 


Moccasins,  7 
Money,  64 

Moses'  Village,  65,  180 
Mountain:   sunshine,  61 

temperature,  61 
Mukluk,  7,  19,  86 
Mush,  200,  214 

Nanook,  200,  232,  233,  234,  235,  236, 

237,  238,  240 
Natural  religion,  58,  191,  267 
Nelson,  161,  162 
Nenana,  244,  245 
Nicoli's  Village,  322 
Noatak,  90 
Nome,  120,  122,  123 
Northern  Commercial  Company,  241 
Norton:  Bay,  127 
•     Sound,  117 
Nose  protection,  87,  145 
Noyutak  Lake,  76 
Nulato,  48,  140 
massacre,  142,  143 

Old  Woman  Mountain,  135 
One-eyed  William,  172,  173,  174 
Overflow:  water,  6,  7,  27,  37 
ice,  9 

Paraselene,  57 

Parkee,  35,  71 

Peary,  Admiral,  393 

Pedometer,  73 

Petersen,  114,  115 

Photographing,  241,  242 

Photography,  371-379 

Place  names,  326 

Point  Hope,  3,  56,  97,  99,  100 

Potatoes,  229 

Potlatch,  310,  353 

Prevost,  Jules,  154 

Prices,  324,  327,  362 

trading,  362,  396,  407 
Prospectors:   in  winter,  78 

and  Esquimaux,  88 

pinching  out,  92 

ruined,  146 

self-reliance,  161,  162 


INDEX 


419 


poet,  322 
imagination,  326 
knowledge  of  Bible,  328 

dogs,  399 
visions,  409 
railways,  410 
Ptarmigan,  325 

Quikpak  River,  153 

Raft,  256 

Ragarou,  Fr.,  147 

Railroads,  410,  411 

Rampart  City,  221,  222,  223,  338,  339 

Rasmunsen,  392 

Reading  matter,  77,  205,  324,  325, 

336 
Red  Mountain,  176 
Reindeer,   119,    120,    402,   405,    407, 

409 
Roadhouse  accommodation,  34,  324 

gambling,  128 

keepers  of,  132 

talk,  289 

poet,  321,  322 

reading  matter,  324,  325 

Arctic  travel  reminiscences,  335 
Roxy,  70,  71,  72,  87,  91,  96,  loi 
Russian  Alaska,  142,  143 :   Church  of, 
cf.  Greek  Church 

Saint  John's-in-the- Wilderness,  188, 

19s 
Salchaket,  254 
Scientists,  269,  270 
Seasons,  230 

Seward  Peninsula,  109,  ill,  112,  113 
Signal  corps,  135,  136,  137,  220 
Sishwoymina,  309 
Siwashing,  41,  67,  138,  392,  394 
Slate  Creek,  46 
Sled:  width,  no 

brake,  113 

overturning,  113,  114 

improvised,  164 

in  soft  snow,  166 

use  of  willow  saplings,  167,  179 

gee  pole,  220 


convertible  rig,  275 

unpacking,  345 

harness,  397 

team,  397 

weight  carried,  398 

dog  rations,  load,  405 
Sleeping  bag,  104,  105 
Smoke,  54 
Snow  banners,  39 

melting,  42 

glasses,  145,  146 

blindness,  146,  147,  148,  290 
Snow-shoes,  7,  346 
Society  of  Friends,  99 
Solar:  light,  effect  on  speed-shutters, 

374 
phenomena,  15,  16,  31,  39,  45,  57, 

73,  74,  90,  103,  211 
Solomon's,  126 
Speed,  17,  20,  60,  75,  91,  96,  97,  no, 

130,  198,  199,  299,  337 
Squirrel  River,  93,  94,  95 
Starvation,  184,  185 
Stefanson,  88,  268,  269 
Summit,  II 

Takotna,  323 

Tanana,  150,  151,  152,  216,  217,  255, 
256,  258,  271,  273,  274,  337,  369 

River,  155,  255,  256 
Tapis,  271 

Telegraph  system,  136 
Temperature:   low,  travel,  14 

animal  life,  16 

in  river  bottoms,  19,  50,  61 

effect  on  lamps,  34 

on  parts  of  the  body,  36 

on  log  huts,  37 

condensation,  53 

smoke,  54 

clear  weather,  55 

wind,  57 

emotional  power,  59 

death  from  freezing,  61,  66,  68 

cleanliness,  86 

altitude,  effect  of,  204 

greatest  cold,  effect  of,  206 

fluctuations,  212 


420 


INDEX 


confinement,  215 

effect  on  cameras  and   fil 

374 

on  emulsions,  376,  377 

and  auroras,  381 

high:   301 

effect  on  dirt  roof,  346 

on  Yukon  River,  347 
Thermos  bottle,  261 
Toboggan,  13,  37,  38,  46,  89 
Topkok,  117 
Town  crier,  278 
Tozitna,  209,  213 
Trader:   anti-monopolist,  241 

profits,  334 

missions,  258 

articles  sold  to  Indians,  361 
Trading  monopoly,  144 
Trail:  river,  2,  13,  37 

dry  and  wet,  7 

mountain,  10,  38 

width,  15 

lost,  18,  19,  67,  104,  320 

blazed,  26 

wind-swept,  40 

in  snow,  72,  138 

breaking,  74,  75 

exchange,  75 

with  hard  crust,  109 

telephone,  118 

effect  of  horses  on,  149,  150 

cutting,  176 

making,  198 

always  serpentine,  198 


staked, 198,  210 
ms,  372,  widening,  202 

stage,  254 

double  tripping,  298 
in  soft  snow,  301 
swampy,  332 
Yukon,  336 
in  gale,  340 
"sidling,"  341 
>  at  night,  344 

in  thaw,  346,  347 
found  by  aurora,  384 
Tsormina,  308 
Tuberculosis,  359,  360 
Twelve-Mile  Summit,  9 


Unalaklik,  132 

Walter,  314,  321,  336,  341 
Whiskey,  153,  222,  363 
White,  John,  121 
Wind:   protection  against,  35 

different  local  velocities,  37 

physical  labour,  46 

in  extreme  cold,  57 

as  a  malignant  spirit,  112 

high  velocities,  219 

in  The  Ramparts,  338 
Wiseman,  47 
Wolf,  395 

Yukon,  12,  139,  153,  219,  336,  351 
Flats,  12,  13,  343 
Fort,  21,  22,  24,  350 


Interior  of  Alaska,  Showing  Journeys  Described  in  this  Book 


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